


baby, you're a dark star

by Thesis



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Sex, Blade of Marmora Keith (Voltron), Blade of Marmora Kuro (Voltron), Blade of Marmora Romelle (Voltron), Blow Jobs, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Double Anal Penetration, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Porn With Plot, Secrets, Sex Pollen, Threesome - M/M/M, a break-it fic, a whole lot of ruminating about death, oh god where to start, some very mild murdering, the opposite of a fix-it fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 04:29:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 52,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16906128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thesis/pseuds/Thesis
Summary: When the Lions are separated from the castle, hurled out of the wormhole into distant corners of space, Pidge still finds Allura within an hour. Then Shiro, alone, injured, delirious, asking if they've found Keith yet. They force him into the healing pods and get back to searching. They find Lance, they find Hunk.But they don't find Keith for sixteen months. And now that they have, Shiro is starting to think - maybe he didn't want to be found.





	baby, you're a dark star

**Author's Note:**

> For reference, the note to myself at the top of this document when I rediscovered it and decided it would be fun to try finishing it was: “Quick, write shameless generic fanfics before season 2 airs and the context this all takes place in his lost forever!!!” So, you know. Fuckin' nailed it on that timeline, but considering what it turned into, it wouldn't have worked any other way. At least I finished before the final season airs...
> 
> It's the opposite of a fix-it fic. It's a break-it fic. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

The planet they find Keith on is beautiful.

It's almost-but-not-quite like Earth. Smaller, with the shadows of its moons cutting across the ground like rivers. Tiny, finger-nail sized flowers spread across its whole surface. Deep purple with white specks, like galaxies painted on every petal. They look almost like the petunias that Shiro's grandmother used to grow in her front-yard garden, only smaller, infinitely smaller.

The tracker that Pidge has been pouring her soul into for sixteen months is blinking incessantly in the command room. It's like a divine lightning strike. The photos of the planet from the castle's database pop up like the earth revealed by a parted sea, and it feels like water crashing into Shiro's lungs and leaving him short of breath.  
  
"Oh, shit," Matt says, his hands gripping Pidge's shoulders tight as he stands behind her.

"We found him," Pidge whispers. Then, disbelieving, "I found him."

"Unless there's another red lion," Lance teases, his tone so hopelessly relieved that Shiro can hear his grin without even looking.

With a gesture from Allura, the live feed of the planet zooms in as far as it can, blurring, then pixelating as it tries to correct the image through algorithms.

"The red lion is located here," Allura says with a breathless sort of disbelief. She gestures a distinctly red blur among the purple. "But Keith's Paladin communicator isn't coming through. Shiro, why don't you take the black lion down to retrieve him?"

Shiro's throat is dry. He has to kick start his brain, his heart, his mouth. He swallows. "I - yeah. Yeah, okay. Of course."

The princess looks at him with soft eyes, and Matt slips away from Pidge to come set a hand on his shoulder. He must look out of it. He hates looking like he isn't in control, let alone _feeling_ it. He shakes his head and tries to push himself back into his role.

Pidge follows Matt, and her fingers come to touch Shiro's wrist gingerly. "Actually, Hunk and I should probably come. I boosted that scanner… More than you can imagine. I promise, I did."

Shiro knows. He has watched her lose sleep for sixteen months over this. The guilt has been steeping all through his body from his core, wedged in too tight. Held in place by the necessity of her work, by all of their desperation for it to pay off.

She explains, "But we still didn't pick Red up until we were this close. There must be something wrong with her signal. If she's damaged, maybe we'll need to fix her up to even get her back to the castle, you know?"

Hunk is still sitting on the floor in front of his chair; he had slipped out of it when the alarm went off. Sometimes, he has told Shiro, it's just soothing to be closer to the ground. "But the lions repair themselves over time," he says. "How could his lion _still_ be messed up after–"  
  
"–Hunk," Matt interrupts, with a furtive glance to Shiro. Shiro imagines he thinks he is subtle. He appreciates the consideration for his nerves, but there's no use trying to keep Shiro's mind off it. If Red is still in such bad shape, it means she's been pushed past her limits consistently. Or maybe she just took some bad hits recently.

Either way, it can't mean anything good.

Coran tries to distract him too. "This planet – Merra. It's nothing but ruins, so you'll face no danger, below."

This weighs Shiro's heart down, too. They were too late to save this planet.

But at least it fell while Allura slept, long before the rest of them were even born. Shiro wonders if maybe he's starting to take the whole 'saving the universe' thing too far. It's hard to know where their responsibilities begin and end.

A hero complex is a bitch, but Shiro doesn't remember any other way to live.  
  
"I want to go, too," Pidge says, firmly. She is already reaching up to tie her long hair back into a ponytail so that it will be easier to shove into her helmet.

Hunk rises to his feet, and joins the rest of them, slipping beside Pidge. "Me too. Like, I know that you two were closer and everything, but – we were a team. We still are."

"Pidge worked _really_ hard on that scanner," Matt adds, preemptively defensive of them both. He reminds Shiro, "Hunk did too, and you might need them. Like, what if–"  
  
Matt cuts himself off when he sees Shiro arch an eyebrow. "I didn't say no."

He is glad to hear how calm his own voice sounds. His knees feel weak; his heart is fluttering. God, he has been worried. It was never his job to look after Keith – _except it was,_ a part of him insists – but it _was_ his job to look after his _team._ He's made a mess of it on every front, whether they'll admit it or not, but this, _this_ , is so far beyond anything else.  
  
He hates knowing that they can all still tell that his nerves are shot through. The tracker is still beeping, rhythmic as a heart monitor. He realizes that he's holding his breath, waiting for it to flat-line.

Lance grins and says, “Now, now, we all know that _I'm_ the ideal captain of any welcoming committee.”

"Welcoming _back_ committee," Pidge asserts.

They suit up and go together, their lions streaking color through the blackness of space, descending on the little planet like gods. Shiro wonders if Keith sees them coming.

Shiro would feel better if he were alone with his guilt, with his own trembling nerves, but there is something viscerally soothing at seeing all the lions beside Red, even if she is in bad shape.

They're a set, they're a _team_.  
  
Team Voltron, like they're supposed to be. Like everyone thinks they've been. Five Paladins. Defenders of the universe. Slayers of Zarkon.

Leave the public to their misconceptions. Shiro has already grappled with the guilt of this lie enough. He is sure he'll have to dig it all back up for Keith soon enough, so it's better to leave it alone for as long as he can. It's another machine, a lie detector, rhythmically spiking in his head.

The red lion looks sort of – pretty, surrounded by all these flowers. Ruby red against a blackout sky. The ground so thick with purple flowers that the tips of her claws disappear into them. Overhead, stars shine like light coming through holes poked in a dark box.

“It's not as bad as I expected,” Pidge murmurs, her hands gently touching the force-field around the red lion. Red's legs look dented and bent up, her paint chipped and scraped away in patches, but the force-field holds firm. "She's had some maintenance done, it's just…"

"Rough to get good maintenance on the lions," Hunk finishes for her.

"They're kind of special," she agrees, then goes quiet. Her hand falls back to her side.  
  
This only brings up new questions in Shiro's mind. He hates the part of him that asks them.  
  
Pidge's calculating gaze drifts his way. She is suspicious by nature, far less shamefully than Shiro. Even she does not want to voice it.  
  
It is absurd to believe that Keith never found a way to contact them in all this time. And as much of a relief as it is that Red is not as badly damaged as they had expected – this only makes it stranger that Pidge's scanners had not found her sooner.  
  
Shiro can accept that Red is clearly in no shape to travel across the universe, that maybe the damage hindered her from sending out a signal. But messages can cross light years in the blink of an eye, and the lions aren't the only way to send them.

It's almost like it was on purpose. But that's impossible. Just the idea of it hollows a pit in Shiro's gut, and he tries to fill it with guilt instead, like shoveling dirt into a grave.

For a while they stay close to the lions, calling out Keith's name and hardly budging an inch. 

Eventually Shiro gives them all a timer, sets their coordinates, and tells them to split up. Merra is a small planet, after all.

Shiro chooses north. It's as good a direction as any. The others branch off behind him.

It's dead quiet. Shiro is used to a breeze, at least. In trees, in grass. Scurrying creatures, a living planet – anything. Even the castle's air filtration makes a noise, makes a movement, however subtle it may be. There is a constant hum of electricity and magic all around him, and having it lost without replacement is like falling into ice water.

Shiro is hyper-aware of his own breathing. Of his own footsteps, trampling a million flowers a minute, brushing along in a trail of upturned petals.

His heart feels like it's pulsing in his throat. His skin thrums with nerves, with relief, because Red is here. There is no way that Keith is not.

The first couple of months without Keith had felt inconceivable. In one day, Pidge had crashed into satellite scraps and saved herself within the hour. Then she and Allura had found Shiro, injured and delirious with pain. They had ushered him into the healing pod, worry creasing their brows as they answered every question they could. Yes, the scanners were running, _no_ , they hadn't found Keith yet.

By the time he had healed, they had found Hunk and Lance.

But then a week went by. And then another, and another, until it was months, until it was a _year,_ and Shiro has learned to swallow difficult truths. Shiro has learned that sometimes the world doesn't go fairytale perfect like in books and movies. What sort of perfect world has he ever expected, when he can't even trust his own body?

He'd liked the idea of fate and destiny, when he was younger. Adam had always said the thought was depressing, and turned his nose at what it said about free will. Ironic that he couldn't stand the thought of not making his own decisions, Shiro thought, with equal parts bitterness and regret.

But Shiro had never thought of destiny like chains. It was more like a guiding light. The things written in the stars are to be read, not necessarily obeyed.

That guiding light of his had gone out for a year in captivity. The stars had felt dead all around him, or maybe he had felt dead, abandoned by their brilliance.

Then Keith had rescued him from the Garrison, and the lions had chosen them, and it had all _felt_ like destiny, it had all _felt_ like something storybook-perfect, and Shiro had thought…

Well, it doesn't matter anymore. Whatever dream-seed the start of their adventure had planted had wilted in the dead earth. Shiro still believes in greatness, but they've deviated from the script. The universe is vast, _impossibly_ vast. Overwhelmingly infinite, full of countless races that they will never rescue, never even conceive of.

If Keith vanishing into thin air, into a worm hole, into that endlessly expanding void wasn't enough evidence against perfect three-act heroic adventures – then the villain had been killed off in act one. Zarkon died, and his empire didn't fall. You're supposed to beat the boss and win the day, but the war just keeps _going_.

No one knows how to tell stories like that. No one knows how to take them.

Maybe that's why the rumor had spread across the galaxies that it was Voltron that had killed him. That's how the tale is supposed to go. That's what the hero is supposed to do.

Or maybe it's just that life is so much slower than stories. The galra empire falls without Zarkon, but it is slow, slow, slow.

And they're going to find Keith - they've _found_ Keith.

Slow, slow, slow.

Shiro is starting to take a perverse pleasure in crushing these flowers. Colorful galaxies painted on their petals that flourish through the air, falling slow as he upturns them.  
  
He pictures Keith in this flower field. Predicts it. Wills it into existence.

Shiro hates that shit. It's hard work that gets you places. It was hard work that got him to the stars, it was Pidge's hard work that found the red lion. If you could manifest what you wanted from life just by wanting it hard enough, you would be god, and they aren't, they _aren't_.

Sure, Shiro thinks, your attitude can carry a lot of weight, but he is still a dying man.

Keith is facing away when Shiro spots him.

His armor is black and violet and unfamiliar. He has a hood pulled over his head, and so it is the set of his shoulders that gives him away. The angle of his arm as his hand rests on his hip. The shape of his calves.

Shiro knows he is not supposed to notice things like that, and he does not like thinking about when he started to.

"Keith," he calls out.

There is an odd ease to the way Keith turns to look at him, a smile on his lips. Like no time has passed at all, like seeing Shiro is the most natural thing in the world. It makes the moment feel unreal, dreamlike, and that's a dream Shiro has had before.

His voice catches in his throat at the sight of Keith's face. His hair has grown long, down past his collarbone and just as unkempt as Pidge's. At closer look, all of him has grown. He is taller, broader across the shoulders, and the harsh cut of his muscles is more prominent on his thin limbs than it ever was before.

There is a scar cut up his right cheek, from his jaw up to just beneath his eye.

After looking Shiro over for a moment, Keith's eyes go wide in delayed surprise. He stumbles a step away as if physically repelled by the sight of him.

He looks at Shiro like he isn't sure what to do with him. His shock gives way to the same look he used to get when he was trying to grasp one of Lance's jokes or references and coming up empty-handed. He opens his mouth, but no words come out.

"We were looking for you," Shiro says, as soft as he can. There is no knowing what Keith has been through to make him react like that. Shiro feels nauseous, but he wants more than anything to put on a brave front. He will be whatever Keith needs him to be, whatever will soothe him.

A thousand apologies and words of relief rise to his throat and die there, because Shiro knows how to play a part.  
  
Keith makes a quiet sound as if he has something to say in response, but Shiro's timer cuts him off, beeping in staccato until he has to awkwardly reach down and shut it off.

“Come on,” he says.

For the first time that Shiro can recall, Keith hesitates before following him.  


***  


There is a strange unspoken agreement that keeps them all task oriented. Maybe it's just that they can tell from Keith's crossed arms and distance that he is in no mood for play.  Maybe it's that no one knows how to talk to him after so long apart.

The red lion can drift well enough to get to the castle just fine.  
  
The spell is broken, inside. They are a flurry of chatter, all expressing their worry and relief in their own ways.

"I tried," Pidge tells him. She holds her head, then turns it into carding her fingers through her own hair, tugging it loose with her brow furrowed. Shiro has gotten used to her quiet resignation, her instant re-dedication. It's as if the frustration is bubbled up fresh as she mutters, "I tried so hard to find you sooner, I've been trying since the day – since the wormhole first separated us. I've – I did _everything_ that I could, we just couldn't reach you, couldn't see you."  
  
Hunk nudges her until she drops her hands back to her sides, her shoulders drooping. He tells Keith, "We're just glad you're okay. That's what matters the most."  
  
Allura's hands rest over her heart as if to calm it, and she says, "We never gave up hope that you were out there, somewhere."  
  
Coran is trying to lighten the mood, twirling his mustache as if it could distract them from the waterfall of tears streaking down his face. "Of – of course. I always told them," he stops to blow his nose loudly, then continues on, sniveling, "You're as stubborn as a jiryt! Ferocious, capable beasts. Survivors."

"No one knows what that is," Matt whispers hopelessly, then breaks into a grin. "But this just goes to show you, Pidge can find _anyone_ in the universe. That's a talent."

"You stink," Lance says. He leans towards Keith and sniffs dramatically. "And you look awful."

Even Shiro can't pretend otherwise. He gives Lance a warning look, then redirects his attention to Keith. "That seems like as good a first order of business as any. You can have the best bath of your life."

When Hunk takes a hesitant step towards Keith with his arms open, Keith just stares. Shiro expects Hunk to be completely rebuffed, but after considering, Keith concedes with a gentle smile, stepping into the hug. He is still tense in the embrace, as if he had not expected to be missed, to be met with affection.

Shiro wraps an arm around them both, and Keith's shoulders relax just a fraction. Then Pidge joins, throwing herself into the hug, leaping up so that she is practically a backpack on Hunk. She is only barely touching Keith's back with an outstretched hand. Maybe this was on purpose. Even Allura joins in, delicate, embracing him, yet hardly touching him at all. Lance ducks his way into the pile, then Matt, and then all of them stumble with the weight of Coran falling around them.

Beneath Pidge and Hunk's chattering about Red, and Coran's sobbing – beneath the sound of Shiro's hand rubbing soft at Keith's back, and beneath Allura's hushed whispers of relief – Keith exhales shakily. Shiro tells himself it is a sigh of relief.  


***

Shiro was serious about the bath, of course.  
  
The castle has an _actual_ bath, not just the shower rooms they usually share after missions. Shiro shows everyone the way, his hand still resting at the small of Keith's back, as if he might collapse without it. Maybe he is touching too much. He feels drawn in like magnetism.

But Keith leans back into the touch.  
  
Indignantly, Lance cries, “You've been hiding a _secret spa_?! I would have used that!”

“There's a pool, as well,” Allura says mildly.

Lance groans.

“It is a _castle_ ,” Coran points out, as if it was silly of them not to have asked. Allura averts her eyes innocently, apparently very dedicated to watching the automatic door open for them. Lance's accusatory glare sets on Shiro next, and he follows Allura's lead, looking away quickly.

He hadn't _meant_ to keep it a secret. It had just never come up. (No, that's a hard lie to push. He still remembers Allura's mischievous smile. _Leader's privilege_ , she had said, the first time she told him about it, and she had looked so childish for once that Shiro had just gone along with it.)

The floral scent of the waters is carried by the steam, and when the doors open, the heat hits like a wave. It looks like a community bath house, or like a hot-spring. The tub is the size of a swimming pool, the water shimmering, rippling, scattered with pink petals that may or may not be synthetic.

"Fit for a princess," Lance grumbles, as if consoling himself with the thought. 

“The secret's out now,” Pidge says.

“I get that Keith totally has first dibs,” Hunk says, “but I'm calling second-dibs.”

“Like, shotgun?” Pidge ponders. “Shotgun bath time?”

“It's large enough to share,” Allura offers. “Shiro tells me that in some human cultures, bathing together is a great show of bonding.”

Shiro murmurs to her, quiet as he can for some semblance of privacy, “That's probably too much, right now.”

A guilty expression passes her face, and she nods – whispers back, “Of course.” She raises her voice again, tactful as ever, “But perhaps another time.”

Keith is silent, rubbing at his neck almost shyly.

“Community bath sounds pretty nice, but Keith probably wants some space,” Pidge says. Shiro isn't sure if she overheard and can't read the mood, or if she said it _because_ she was reading the mood. “It must be overwhelming dealing with all of us buzzing around.”

“Too true,” Coran agrees. “Well – then I shall bring towels and a change of clothes, and set them out for you,  Keith.”

Hunk is agreeable. “I'll just wait my turn.” He turns to Pidge. “We can go in together, later?”

Pidge beams. “Yeah!”

"Excuse you," Matt mutters, but has given up by now on trying to isolate the way the two of them have grown into each other like vines. ("They're like hardware and software" has been Matt's metaphor of choice.)  
  
"Please," Allura says, her body already angled to leave. "Do join us in the common room when you're feeling up to it."

When she leaves, the others follow, but Shiro hesitates.

Shiro spares one last look back to Keith, only to find himself being closely watched. Keith's eyes track him. His lips part, but no sound comes out.

Keith has hardly said five words since they found him.

“Keith,” Shiro begins. He has to monitor his tone carefully, has to keep from letting it sound condescending. He knows how to handle Keith like a step-by-step guide is written in his heart. “Would you like someone to stay with you?”

Or, he used to. He isn't sure what he expected, but it wasn't narrowed eyes and crossed arms.  They are alone now. This isn't how things usually go, with Keith alone. His walls usually melt away in an instant.

"It's fine if you need space," Shiro ventures, uncertainty weighing on his voice.

This makes Keith soften, his body relaxing. The crease on his brow smooths as his eyes scan Shiro's face, as if searching for an absent malice.

"No," he says, quiet. "No, I'm okay. Thanks, Shiro."

Shiro nods, and with great self control, leaves to the hallway.

He hears the sound of undressing behind him. The sound of water parting around Keith's body is cut off by the doors sliding shut behind Shiro. In another world, this would leave him with a feeling very different from the helplessness digging into his chest.

Coran comes by with towels and Keith's washed clothes, and only seems mildly surprised to see Shiro still standing by the door.

Shiro refuses to think about that, but gratefully swallows back his defensive explanations. Instead he says, “I'll bring these in for him.”

Coran hands everything over with ease, and when his hand is free, he sets it gently on Shiro's arm. "He just needs time. We're all glad to have him back."

Shiro nods with muted gratitude, then watches Coran leave.

The sound of the door sliding back open does not seem to catch Keith's attention, nor does the sound of Shiro's footsteps on the tile. He follows the wall to set the clothes down on a bench.  
  
He turns around, ready to call out and get Keith's attention, but Keith is already staring at him.

The water is tinted green with whatever Altean bath salts are in it, and from where Keith's chest dips into the water, his body is vague and obscured. His hair is wet from his head being dunked under, the strands clinging to his cheeks and neck and shoulders.

His hair _is_ distractingly pretty, Shiro thinks, distantly. Like thread, or like black ink, drawing swooping lines all across him.  
  
“Uh,” Shiro stammers. “Your. Your old clothes.”  
  
His eyes dart to the pile of discarded clothes on the floor. Those small flowers from the planet are shed all around it, petals stuck to everything. He wonders where the black suit came from. If he should take it away to be washed.

Keith nods in acknowledgment, a slow motion, like it is laced with uncertainty. The lines of his hair dip and straighten again with the movement.

Shiro hates that he can feel his cheeks heating. It will take time to feel back to normal, he reminds himself. He wants to tear his eyes away, but Keith doesn't break eye contact either.

Shiro looks him over again. There are no suds in his hair, but it is not fully soaked through after being dunked under the surface.

Shiro feels dizzy. The scents and heat of the room are overpowering after too long. It must be getting to Keith too, because his cheeks are just slightly flushed, too.

“Do you need help?” Shiro finally blurts out. Before Keith can say something as angry as he immediately looks, Shiro rushes to add, “I'm – I know that you're fine. I'm not trying to treat you like a kid, I just...”

Keith's lips purse tight.

There is still something about him that Shiro can't place. Of course he's grown; it's been a long time. He is too thin, too pale, with new scars on his body. His hair is too-dark, too-long, too-messy, too-straight. His eyes are sharp as knives, but the color of tracked flowers that touch his hair, his skin, the water.  
  
He looks suspicious, and beautiful, and Shiro swallows thickly.

Distance makes the heart grow fonder. That's the phrase, right? No. He would be lying if he said this is completely new. But he's got it worse than he thought if his heart is drumming in his chest over someone who looks half dead.

Shiro tries to distract himself, defensively explaining, "It's just, you haven't rinsed it out very well. I guess it must be hard sometimes when your hair's gotten so long."  
  
“Okay,” Keith says.

“I just thought I could at least tell you if you—oh.”

Keith does not repeat himself.

Shiro does not like how dulled Keith's emotions seem. Like they were eroded down while he was away. He is used to sparks and burning, even if the flames have always been lower for him. It's like nothing is left but embers.  
  
Shiro kicks off his shoes and crosses the distance, kneeling on the tile behind Keith. The bath's overflow damps his knees.  
  
This is probably not a normal way to ease back into your mentoring-friendship with someone.

For just a moment, Shiro is overwhelmed by the guilt again. He was supposed to look out for Keith. He was supposed to take care of him. The impulse to wrap his arms around Keith and hold him tight, just to feel that he is solid, that he is _here_ , is a difficult one to push back.

Instead he lathers Keith's hair in shampoo. He feels Keith, with fingertips against his scalp. He tries not to notice the satisfied sigh Keith lets out, and tells him when to dunk his head beneath the water.

The water drips down his body when he rises again. With his hair all swept to one side, Shiro notices another scar, this one on Keith's shoulder. A pale line – big, from his collar bone all the way to shoulder blade.

Shiro traces over it with his thumb, curious. He wants to ask. Of course Keith has injuries. They all do. This one on his shoulder does not look so bad, but that sharply defined scar on his cheek sets Shiro's imagination on fire with terror.

He wants to know what Keith did all this time. The question none of them have voiced is still rattling around in his head. Where has Keith been? Is Shiro really supposed to believe that there was nothing he could have done to reach them?

Keith shivers under his touch. Turns his head to look pointedly in another direction. Says nothing.

Next is conditioning and brushing – the least fun part. Shiro is generous with how much conditioner he pours into Keith's hair before he begins finger combing through it with one hand.

Keith is quiet. He winces every so often with the most difficult tangles.

Shiro is not sure if he is trying to distract himself or Keith, but he murmurs, "I missed you. I mean – we all did. We were looking for you this whole time.  
  
Keith only concedes a quiet, distracted “Mm.”

His shoulders are turning pink from the warm, a vivid contrast to his milky skin. The tips of his ears are glowing to match. Shiro is sure it's just the strangeness of the situation and the heat of the water. The steam is getting to him, too. It's overpowering, making his eyelids feel heavy. He's bathed in here before and it's never gotten to him like this, but maybe it's just been too long.

He works with dedication until the inky black hair in his hands is smooth and straight, weighed down by water.

He watches Keith's back. The slight flex of his shoulder blades as he shifts in place. His skin that sometimes sticks to the tile of the tub's wall behind him. And the curve of his spine, disappearing into the water. He thinks about how soft his skin looks, how smooth it has felt the few times his knuckles have inadvertently brushed against.  
  
He thinks about how much Keith has grown, but how small he looks in such a big room, with shoulders hunching in.

“I think,” Shiro manages, “you've got it from here?”

Keith nods. Shiro only knows this because is staring intently at the nape of his neck.

"Don't rush yourself," Shiro blurts out, rising to his feet and backing away towards the door. Feeling ridiculous, he hears himself add, "But – don't stay in too long."

"I've got it, Shiro," Keith tells him, voice light with amusement, but still not looking his way.

Shiro hurries from the room.

***  


Keith after the bath is a one thousand percent improvement. His hair is still too-long, bangs falling into his eyes, and when he tucks strands back behind an ear, his eyes are still weary. But he is in clean clothes, his skin is clear, and even such small things can be so refreshing that they make all the difference.

He sits on the couch with the rest of the paladins, looking tired and far more relaxed than Shiro would have expected.

The silence is both comfortable and not. Being around Keith feels new. Maybe because he is still acting unpredictably. After he had entered the common room, towel still draped over his shoulders, he had padded straight to Shiro. He'd sat down beside him and leaned into his side as if he'd done it a thousand times before. Maybe he is just too drowsy to feel self conscious. Maybe the distance has him feeling clingy. Shiro doesn't blame him.  
  
He just wishes his own body could calm down about it. It occurs to Shiro that it has been a long time since he was touched with such a casual intimacy. He thinks of how pretty Keith's thick eyelashes are as his eyes go sleepily half-lidded. He thinks of Keith's weight against his and the dampness of his sleeve where Keith's hair is pushed onto it. He thinks of how hot Keith's skin feels to the touch, still heated from the bath.

He thinks of how easily Keith lets him drape an arm over his shoulder, how easily they fit together, like their bodies are puzzle pieces.

Pidge and Hunk seem to have already lost interest in the bath they planned together – with Pidge, this is no surprise. Instead they are resting on the other end of the couch. Pidge is taking a well-deserved nap.

Shiro imagines they will all sleep well, tonight. Better than they have in sixteen months.

Pidge's head rests on Hunk's thigh while he flips through her diary, and her legs are kicked across Matt's lap as he thumbs at a datapad screen.

“You really gotta stop reading that,” Lance comments, probably just trying to fill the silence.

“What?” Hunk asks. He has to look at the diary for a moment to understand. “Oh! Yeah, totally. I would. But now she just writes me notes in here. I think her real diary is encrypted on her laptop.”  
  
"It is," Matt affirms, not looking up.  
  
Lance makes a face, but Hunk just shrugs.

And Keith smiles. His lips quirk up in his own quiet fondness, and he nuzzles his cheek into Shiro's shoulder.  
  
Shiro is almost grateful for the distraction when Lance asks, “So – what have you been up to? What's with the…?" Lance gestures at his face with both hands.

Keith glowers at Lance, recoiling even closer to Shiro. Shiro almost expects him to hiss like a cat.

Shiro can't quite blame Lance. The curiosity is eating at him like acid, but Keith is clearly anxious. He isn't ready to talk.

Shiro tries to be diplomatic, but firm. “Lance. Give him some time, first. It's... Been a long time. He can relax first, then I'm sure we'll hear everything.” It comes out too harsh. He tries to soften it, adding, "I know you're curious and worried. We all were."

“No rush,” Hunk offers, as if he is speaking for Lance and trying to smooth it over. He changes the subject easily. “Anyway, when Pidge is up, we can deal with your hair. Both of you could use a haircut. Even if it's just a trim. Whatcha wanna do?”

Keith tilts his head to the side, slowly. Shiro is captivated by the fall of his hair, braided loose over his shoulder, now.

He had thought the dizziness had come from the heat and fragrances of the baths, but it's back. He tries not to let it show on his face.

Keith avoids answering for as long as he can, but under Hunk and Lance's scrutinizing gazes, he eventually says, “I don't really care.”

“We could do it by popular vote,” Pidge says, apparently awake now. Hunk lifts an arm for her to sit up, and Shiro watches them both ignore the small wet spot she has drooled onto his shorts as she wipes at her mouth with her sleeve. "Now that I'm not busy, I could stand to get it cut, but I don't really care what length, either."  
  
This earns another small smile from Keith.

It isn't as if Keith never smiled before, Shiro reminds himself. He doesn't know why this is getting to him so much, making his whole body feel warm and melty.

Pidge hops up from the couch and sets up a screen. She slides it into place in the middle of the room, then taps out on either side of the screen: _Pidge's Haircut, Keith's Haircut_. Then, after a moment of thought, snickering: _Matt's Haircut._

"Hey, hey," he grumbles, but puts up no further argument.

Pidge lists out the options, _short, medium, long_.  
  
“One vote per-person,” she says, dropping her own vote into _medium_ on Keith's side, then _short_ for Matt. He makes another offended sound, and even Shiro can't hold back a puff of laughter.

Coran still trims Keith's bangs back for him before evening - and Pidge's, while he's got the scissors in hand.

Shiro feels as though he is watching a jigsaw puzzle be solved in front of him. He knows what he is looking for, he knows what Keith is supposed to look like. Dressed and clean and with his bangs cut right, he is another step closer to being himself, another step away from who he was after sixteen months without them.

But it isn't just his hair. It's his body. It's his scars. It's the way his shirt is just a little too small for him now, and the way he's settled into his own skin. The way he holds himself with a tightness, and the way he relaxes against Shiro despite that.  


***  


Keith barely eats at dinner, falling back again on silently watching them all.

Shiro knows he is not the only one to notice, but Allura gives him a sympathetic smile, and that's enough to dissuade Shiro from commenting.  


***  


When evening comes – imperceptible, a number on a screen somewhere – Shiro walks Keith to his room. He feels silly doing it. Each step is weighted with the expectation of being asked _why_ he's doing it. Shiro tells himself that he is smarter than this, more mature than this. He should know not to feed the impulse to never take his eyes off of Keith for the rest of the foreseeable future.

Shiro isn't trying to baby Keith. He doesn't think his company is needed, by any means. It isn't even as though he's afraid Keith will just up and disappear overnight. He is just drawn to him with an unfamiliar desperation, and he doesn't know why. He spends the entire walk fighting back the urge to touch Keith.

He doesn't know why Keith is playing along as if this walk together is natural. Maybe after borderline cuddling on the couch, it is.

Keith's door slides open for him, and the way he does not spare so much as a glance to say farewell gives Shiro the impression that he should follow. So he does.

Keith does not look out of place. Of course not. It's his own room, even if it is mostly empty.  
  
Shiro wants to tell him how many times he has come to this room. He is not sure if it is with the hope that Keith will be assured he was missed or if it just desperation to break the silence. He sits down on the edge of Keith's bed just to be out of the way of his pacing.

He blinks. “Why are you pacing?”

“I'm not,” Keith says, continuing to pace.

“You should rest,” Shiro says, as gently as he can. “We'll all still be here in the morning.”

Keith whirls on him, his expression furious. He opens his mouth and Shiro waits for an insult, at a complete loss once again – but all that comes out after a pause is a long, drawn-out sigh.

“I know,” Keith says.

This is weird. They aren't back to normal. They've skipped it and gone straight to something too-intimate, and it's only putting Keith on edge. Shiro doesn't blame him. He feels strange holding back so many of his thoughts when he finally has Keith back to air them out to. He has been talking to an imaginary Keith in his mind for the last year and a half, but it was always so much more than he'd ever said to him before, and much more than he can say, now.

Shiro stands back up and heads to the door. It's fine to take things slow. Keith isn't going anywhere, and they'll have plenty of time to get back to their normal.

He's stopped by a hand on the hem of his shirt.

Shiro does not just stop; he turns around, facing Keith and stepping closer. "What's wrong?"

Maybe too close. Keith recoils so hard he stumbles backwards a step.

Then has to steady himself with a hand on the wall. His other hand comes to touch his forehead, but Shiro is there in an instant, pushing it away with his own. There's no point feeling your _own_ forehead to get a read on your temperature.

He's warm. Maybe it's a bug from that planet, or maybe the day is just catching up with him. Everything, all at once. Everyone had tried to keep it mellow for him on his first day back at the castle, but Shiro is sure anything is overwhelming after whatever he went through without them. The surge of emotions must have been exhausting. He knows it was for himself.  
  
Shiro does his best to sound authoritative. "I know today has been a lot, but if you don't feel better by tomorrow, I want you in the healing pods. For tonight, just rest."  
  
Keith nods. He does what he is told for once, climbing into his bed and laying down on his back.

Shiro turns off the lights for him, but still comes to sit back on the edge.

Keith doesn't complain, necessarily, but after he has been laying in silence for a moment, eyes closed, he mutters, “Smells weird.”

Shiro frowns.

“It smells like you,” Keith whispers. Shiro's heart skips a beat. “And – shampoo. And the flowers.”

Shiro isn't sure what to say. He wants to ask all his questions again. He settles for, “Yeah, a lot more going on up here than down there.”

Keith takes in a deep breath, taking in all the scents around him. Shiro makes out the shape of him moving; his arm comes to rest over his eyes as if the room were still bright. “It's too strong,” he whispers.

Shiro knows exactly what he means. He has been feeling dizzy all day, and he isn't sure if it is because of the lavender smells of the spa or from the implacable scent of those tiny flowers. Maybe a mix of the two. It's been overpowering.

“Come here,” Keith demands. His voice had been softer and careful, but this command comes out rough and bossy. Shiro is used to hearing him speak that way, but never to him. He instinctively obeys, laying down beside Keith.

Shiro lays on his back, tilting his head to look at Keith. Keith turns to lay on his side, staring straight at him in the dark. The features of his face become clearer and clearer as Shiro's eyes adjust.

Keith breathes in deep again, a calculated inhale. A drawn-out exhale. “You smell,” he says. Shiro blinks, too startled to feel offended. Keith adds, “I think it's helping. The flowers are too much.”

“It's weird that they're stronger than the shampoo,” Shiro says. “I smell them too. I didn't realize that's what it was, but it's been making me dizzy all day.”

“Mm,” Keith agrees, and his breath is hot on Shiro's neck.

Shiro startles, jerking away and turning onto his side, watching Keith with a sudden caution and baited breath.

Beside him, Keith is curling closer, like it is the most natural thing to be doing. He blinks owlishly, as if confused that Shiro had drawn back.

Shiro's mind races so fast that all trains of thought derail. His brain comes up empty.

He settles back down, and lets Keith sidle up to him. Keith settles against Shiro's side, so close that he is practically climbing on top of him. A leg works its way over Shiro's. An arm spreads out over his chest. Shiro has to move his arm under Keith, and the boy immediately buries his face into the crook of Shiro's neck.

Shiro shivers, and hopes Keith can't feel how strongly it travels through his whole body. He can feel the distinct softness of lips on his neck, Keith's nose bumping into him, hair tickling. He can feel the warm puffs of air as he breathes.

“I really missed everyone,” Keith says, quiet and defensive. Like he doesn't think they would believe him. It's a tantalizing drag of his lips across sensitive flesh, and Shiro wonders if he is being tortured on purpose. If he is, that explains Keith saying _everyone_ and not _you._

He swallows his petty jealousy and scolds himself for the immaturity. “Everyone missed you.”

Keith chuckles. The sound is low and unfamiliar, and just as ridiculously, impossibly hot.

“You uh,” Shiro says, stilted. His voice cracks. He clears his throat. “Missed me a lot, huh?”

“I did.”

He says it so simply.

Shiro does not know what to do with that. He just lays still, helpless, until there is finally a kiss pressed to his neck. Not words mouthed without lifting, but a _kiss_.

The room spins. With his arm that isn't trapped under Keith, he reaches out to touch him. His hand comes to cup his cheek, then slides back, enjoying the way his fingers bury into his over-grown hair. Keith shivers at the cool of the metal, but only tilts his head as if offering himself up. It’s easy for Shiro to undo his braid with only gentle finger work.

When he's finished, Keith brings a hand to cover Shiro's. Then rises, moving to straddle Shiro, still nuzzling into his palm.

“Don't leave,” Keith demands.

“I won't,” Shiro assures him, reflexive.

“I need you,” Keith says.

“Okay,” Shiro answers. Then processes. “What?”

He isn't sure why Keith cuddling him in bed, kissing his neck, and climbing onto his lap hadn't clued him in, but the half-lidded impatient look Keith shoots down at him does the trick. Like he's confirming for him, _yes, you understood that right,_ he leans down, pressing his mouth to Shiro's.

It is dizzying, almost nauseating how desperate it makes him feel. His insides twist in desire, heat pooling in his gut and spreading all through his body. He's kissed people before. It doesn't usually make him hard in two seconds flat.

The guilt is still there.

“You're just--” Shiro tries to tell him, between the kisses. He is trying not to kiss back and doing a very, very poor job. Each time Keith draws back, Shiro leans forward to follow. Each time Keith tilts his head, Shiro follows the motion with ease. His breathing is uneven. “Lonely, right? After being alone for so long.”

Shiro knows better than to take advantage of whatever fucked up things the isolation did to Keith. Whatever Keith has pent up until now that wants to burst. He just wishes his body knew better, too.

“Sure,” Keith says, sounding completely disinterested in this attempt at clarifying.

“I can stay here so you don't have to sleep alone or wake up alone,” Shiro offers. “But I don't think you're in your right mind–”

Keith rolls his hips.

It's a slow, pointed slide of his weight across Shiro's lap, across the unmistakable bulge of his erection in his pants. He feels himself throb from the friction, his whole body begging for more. But more than the weight on his lap, what gets to him is watching the full-body shudder that passes through Keith, too.

“Keith,” Shiro stammers. Keith's skin is flushed, a heated blush spread on his cheeks and down his neck. The curve of Keith's body as he leans down to kiss him is criminal. The way his too-long hair falls in Shiro's face. Shiro has to twist it up around his fingers and hold it back for him. “You're beautiful,” he blurts out, feeling stupid.

Keith ignores this comment, and goes back to kissing him. His tongue runs across Shiro's bottom lip, and obediently, Shiro opens his mouth. He knows better, he does, but the sensation is too nice. Warm and wet and soft and close. Keith's tongue against his is entrancing.

Keith is grinding against him more steadily now, and Shiro's hips rise to meet him, almost uncontrollable. He is just thinking how embarrassing this is, rutting together through their clothes like stupid teenagers, when Keith moans into his mouth. Suddenly he doesn't care.

“I'm serious,” Keith says without pulling away, only tilting his head to knock their foreheads together. Shiro can see how heavily their chests are rising and falling, both equally short of breath. “I really – I need you.”

“Okay,” Shiro says, because he is an idiot, and he is too-hot, too-dizzy, and God he wants Keith so bad that it's impossible to pretend he doesn't. A million things fly in and out of his mind, like power dynamics of the then and now, and when, exactly, Keith's 18th birthday was. Shiro feels as if he is watching the thoughts fall from a tall tower and closing the window behind them.

But he still has sense enough to falter when they are undressing, when Keith's thumbs are hooked in Shiro's briefs.

“Just – one last check, okay, Keith? Are you sure you… Want to do this? With me?”

Keith pulls back from him, sitting up on folded knees. Already naked, he straightens his spine, stretching like some incidental fucking _model_. Humans aren't supposed to be so beautiful, Shiro thinks, helplessly. Shiro has had crushes before, Shiro has been in _love_ before, but Keith is something else entirely. The word _immortal_ flits through Shiro's mind, and he does not know what to make of his own subconscious.

Keith stares at Shiro like he is an idiot.

Defensively, Shiro tries to explain himself. “If it's just the isolation that's got you in a weird place, then I wouldn't want you doing anything you'll regret. This sort of thing has the potential to get very complicated. I know you're not a child anymore, but you're still – I'm still…”

Keith pushes him back down with a palm against his chest. Then he lowers back down, tugging Shiro's briefs off of his hips, freeing his erection to the air. Shiro doesn't have time to feel awkward, because his head goes empty as Keith takes his cock into his mouth.

“Keith,” Shiro hears himself breathe, but then snaps his mouth shut.

Keith's tongue carefully wets the head of Shiro's cock inside his mouth before he begins to move. The image of Keith's head bobbing in his lap is too much for Shiro. The subtle contrast of their skin tones is pretty - the transition from his own scars to Keith's body, littered with dark bruises and fewer, but distinct marks. The shape of his cheeks and the slide of his tongue along the underside of Shiro's cock has Shiro clenching his eyes shut, but then all he's left with is the sound of it, lewd and wet.

He buries his fingers in Keith's hair, tangles them up and feels the way it's grown out. Keith moans around his shaft.

Blowjobs aren't rocket science, but there is still a part of Shiro that demands to know where Keith learned this. Why it feels as if he moves to easily. It's a petty jealousy that is vastly overtaken by a genuine confusion. And then, like all the other coherent thoughts, it dissipates.

“You're so perfect,” Shiro whispers, thoughtless and breathless, and knows this is not the time, and knows he is cruel for taking advantage of Keith's need for this creature comfort. Cruel to Keith and cruel to himself for putting too much of his heart in it.

He feels Keith pause with the awkwardness of it, looking up at him briefly from beneath those dark, thick lashes. Shiro doesn't know what to make of the way he returns to the blowjob without input, but massages his scalp in gratitude anyway.

It's easy to lose himself in the heat, in the feeling of Keith's skin on his. Keith's weight against his leg, his hand squeezing Shiro's thigh hard. In the dark he can still make out the pale marks of his scars. He hyper-focuses on this to keep from coming, to keep enjoying the moment as long as he can. It is that hyper-focus that keeps him from noticing for some time – Keith's other shoulder angled as he reaches behind himself with his free hand.

Shiro can't see it, but the motions are telling when he notices. Just the idea of it has him gently tugging Keith's head away.

He figures if Keith is prepping himself like that, stretching himself out with his fingers, then fuck – he probably doesn't want Shiro to come in his mouth.

Shiro also figures it's best to make the attempt to communicate. “You're sure?”

Red-faced and dazed, Keith nuzzles into the hand in his hair. With expectant eyes on Shiro and a shiny spot of pre-cum still on his lip, he nods.

“Okay,” Shiro mutters, like he is psyching himself up for it. Like he has to do anything at all. For a moment he is treated to the captivating sight of Keith sitting back, drawn away from him now and focused for a moment on fingering himself open.

Then Keith is climbing over him, lining himself up. It feels too easy, the way Keith sinks down on his cock. Too wet, too hot, too good. It's unnaturally mind-numbing. For a moment they just stay, Shiro buried deep inside of Keith, the two of them quiet. The room's only sounds are the quiet clock-ticks and the overlap of their labored breathing.

Keith _sighs_ , drawn out and satisfied, like there is nothing better than this. Shiro understands the sentiment. It feels like lightning in his veins and in his lungs. His hands seek out Keith's thighs, squeezing tight.

Why does it feel so good? Shiro has had sex before, has had _good_ sex before. His brain feels like it's melting.

Shiro is the first to move, with a careful roll of his hips. His grip on Keith's thighs becomes a guiding tug, and Keith easily falls into the rhythm, obeying. They move together, easy as anything. Quiet and close and rocking into each other. Keith leans down to kiss Shiro, then seems to get distracted halfway through it as Shiro drives into him deep. His mouth hangs open and his heavy breaths fall against Shiro's eager lips.  
  
Shiro knows you are supposed to close your eyes when you kiss. But he also knows they shouldn't be doing this, knows he shouldn't be doing this to Keith or to himself. Shiro assures himself that if Keith isn't going to uphold his end of these kisses, then it's not weird for him to keep his eyes open and stare. It's not unusual to be captivated by the rhythmic slide of Keith's body, or his dark eyelashes when he occasionally pulls back, hair falling in his face.

“You're so pretty,” Shiro breathes, as Keith's hair falls messy into his face. Keith's breath only hitches subtly, a confused sound. For some reason his silence only makes Shiro want to keep going. "Baby, you're so good, such a pretty boy."  
  
Keith is the one riding him now, grinding on top of him. He is not even lifting anymore as he keeps Shiro's cock inside him. He sits up with an arched back, putting himself on full display over Shiro. He is grunting with the exertion of sliding back and forth on Shiro's cock, his breath coming out in pants. He doesn't react to anything Shiro is saying out loud, but maybe in the curve of his spine. His eyebrows are furrowed as if in concentration. Shiro can only imagine he is thinking: _shut up and let me use you, let me ride you until I come,_ and – actually, he's not sure he would mind hearing that.

Shiro lets his head fall back against the pillow, exhaling.

“Can I touch you?” He asks, craning his neck to look down his nose at Keith, at Keith's cock standing upright, swollen and leaking. He doesn't expect the nod Keith gives, eyes still closed.

He doesn't expect the quiet, “Please,” that passes Keith's lips.

It's such a startling needy sound that Shiro groans and arches his hips up to push deeper inside him. He reaches out to take Keith's length in his hand, palming up and down it in a sloppy rhythm to match the wave-like rolls of Keith's hips. He feels Keith's thighs quiver around him, watches his head drop forward, hair sliding with the motion, heavy and silky black.

Keith is all flushed red and trembling as he keeps Shiro's cock sheathed deep. There is a desperation to the way he is moving now, a way that he is trying to press into Shiro's hand yet unwilling to lift from his cock and let him thrust properly. Like he can't bear to not be full.

“You're – warm,” Keith says, and his voice is strangely gentle, strangely soft.  
  
“Yeah?” Shiro asks, encouraging any words from him. He can feel how erratic Keith is moving now, can feel his cock pulsing against his fingers. He breathes, “That good? You gonna come?”

Keith nods, mute again, letting out shuddering breaths. He's so tight around Shiro's cock, and the sight of him so visceral that Shiro cannot even be disappointed by his silence. There is only satisfaction, sweet, sweet satisfaction when Keith comes, making a mess of Shiro's fingers and nearly collapsing over him, face burying in the crook of his neck.

Shiro is still hard, feeling the way Keith clenches around him, the way his body trembles until he finally stills. Shiro draws his hand away from where it was trapped between them and wipes it on a far edge of the blanket. His prosthetic fingers brush Keith's hair from his face. Keith is apparently not interested in dismounting Shiro and just nuzzles into his neck, letting out a murmur of a sound, something unintelligible.

“Feel better?” Shiro asks, still breathless. Keith nods, and makes the sound again, a mumble that is almost-but-not words. This seems to prompt him to move, though.

Shiro doesn't mean to let out a whimper at the sensation of Keith sliding off of him, but Keith ignores it anyway, and settles back down at his side. His face quickly returns to Shiro's neck, his whole body squirming up against Shiro's to get comfortable there.

Shiro still isn't sure if all of this was heavenly or torturous. With how good it had felt, how warm and tight. How vividly the image of Keith pressed hard against him is in his mind. With how hard he still is, with how badly he wants Keith back on top of him to squeeze tight and fuck senseless. With the knowledge that it will not happen again, should not have even happened once. That the ideal situation is that this will vanish into the air, into space, into an endless void.

He tucks Keith's hair behind his ear. He likes this sleepy Keith. Face relaxed, eyes closed. Lips softly parted.

He likes him even more when Keith's hand drifts down Shiro's abdomen. Down to circle his shaft. At first his fingers wrap around him, delicate. Then he strokes him lazily, lips moving in an aimless slow drag against his throat.

“So you aren't just leaving me hanging,” Shiro breathes. He was already relaxed; it feels like he is sinking impossibly deeper into this bed.

“I could,” Keith says noncommittally, his hand still sliding up and down Shiro's cock.

“Please don't.”

“Mm.”

The room is quiet. Nothing but the wet sounds of Keith's hand jerking him off. Shiro's own short breaths. He turns his head, breathing in deep the scent of Keith's hair as it tickles his face. The smells of the bath and the smells of those flowers, dizzying all over again. His cock twitches. He wants hard and fast, but even this slow pace is enough to push him closer and closer.

Keith's thumb strokes over the head of his cock, smearing precome for lubrication. He rubs small, overwhelming circles that make Shiro shudder, his gut tightening.

“Felt so good inside you, baby,” Shiro mumbles into Keith's hair. He likes the way Keith presses up against him like an answer, like a question. Like everything. “Wanted to just pin you down and fuck you hard,” he continues, because everything is star-bright hot, but not _enough_. His mind is blanking on anything but desire, and Keith is warm and good and perfect, but also _so_ slow.

“Too bad,” Keith answers loftily, but his grip tightens in a strange sort of obedience. Shiro isn't sure if he means that it's too bad he didn't, or too bad for him that he wants what he can't have.

“You're gorgeous,” Shiro tells him for what feels like the millionth time tonight. Maybe most of those were in his head.

Keith whispers, “Shut up.”

Shiro wants to say: _We shouldn't be doing this._ Wants to say: _I don't want this to be the only time._ Wants to say: _I don't know how to go back to normal, I don't know if we're supposed to._

He comes quiet, biting his lip and shuddering. Holding his breath and lifting his hips ever-so-slightly off the bed. Keith's hand keeps moving, just as slow, just as leisurely, until Shiro's cock has stopped twitching, soft in his slicked fingers.

Keith wipes the mess from his hands, squirms to get comfortable, and sleeps.

Even with a racing mind, it is not so hard for Shiro to doze off after him.  


***  


Shiro wakes up. He doesn't know the time, and there is nothing but stars outside the window to give it away. No alarms are going off. The lights in the room are as dull as they get. Hunk has said these dimmed lights bother him when he tries to sleep, but Shiro thinks it's nice. 

In the quiet, there is nothing but a clock ticking and Keith's breathing.

Keith is still curled at his side, back pressed against the wall, head slanted over Shiro's tingling arm. Shiro doesn't want to disturb him, not when he looks so relaxed for once.

Keith does not seem to wake when Shiro gives in to the sparks in his arm and draws it back. He simply readjusts, murmuring quietly again, and brings his own arm up to replace it.  
 

He only asks when he thinks Keith is fast asleep again; whispering into the dark, “Where were you, Keith?”

Keith's eyes crack open. (Shiro valiantly does not jump.)

He seems to debate whether or not to answer for a moment, but eventually says, quiet, “With a rebel group.”

Shiro looks down at him, pretends it is a glance, pretends he has done more than just continuously look at him since the moment they found him. “You went out and made allies?”

Post coitus is not the time for suspicion, but all this does is raise the questions again. Why didn't Keith contact them? Rebellions don't get by without communication.

Keith closes his eyes again, the thought clearly not on his mind. “They found me.” Shiro thinks the conversation will end there, and assures himself that Keith will talk when he is ready, that there is no reason to talk about it _now,_ at who-knows-o-clock. But Keith adds. “Pretty early on. Red couldn't make it far, so I was just... Drifting.”

Shiro keeps his mouth shut. He gets the feeling speaking up will stop Keith from telling him anything.

“Drifted close enough that they found me, I guess,” Keith says. It doesn't sound like the whole truth, but he exhales and Shiro knows he is finished.

How long was he with them, then? _Why didn't they contact Voltron?_

The galaxies still think that Voltron was the one to kill Zarkon, and Shiro almost asks – almost entertains the question: _Was it you?_

All he can do is shelf his questions as he watches Keith slowly relax back into sleep.  
 

***  


Shiro wakes up to a soft thud against the wall outside the room. Like a body falling against it.

Muffled, he can hear Keith's voice. "I don't know," he hisses. "I didn't plan for this."

Another voice responds, even quieter. Shiro can't make out who it is or what they're saying.

"He's asleep," Keith mutters. "Everyone is asleep. I just needed to…  God, what do I…"

The guilt comes like a tidal wave. Keith had talked to him in the middle of the night, and some part of that had soothed the shame that Shiro had regained hold of after the heat of the moment. But this is a heart break. This is _Keith's_ heart break, with some awful kind of regret pitching his voice thin.

He must be panicked if he thinks that just outside the room was a private enough place to have this talk, loud enough to be overheard. Shiro wonders who he's talking to. The voice sounds masculine. Lance maybe, or Hunk, but both sound equally inconceivable. Maybe that's just a petty jealousy, his own refusal to believe that Keith would turn to anyone but him for support.

But how could he turn to Shiro if Shiro was the problem?

God, how do you fuck up a rescue that bad? How do you think it's okay to fuck your best friend the first time you see him in sixteen months? Sure, Keith had been the one to initiate it, and sure, he's old enough to make decisions for himself now, but Shiro still knows that it was his responsibility to say no. As his mentor, as his leader, as his _friend_.

Shiro has had one night stands before. He knows what they feel like and he knows how navigate the awkward day after. But this is different. This is _Keith,_ and _Keith_ is clearly upset about it.  
  
Shiro listens to the low murmur of a familiar voice he can't place, soothing Keith until the boy mumbles something affirmative and pads away with light footsteps.  
  
He doesn't get back to sleep, but waits for hours before getting dressed and leaving the room.

Keith is in the common room when Shiro gets there. Shiro tries to sit beside him at the appropriate distance to say that they are still very close friends, but that Shiro knows he fucked up and has not presumed a relationship. He thinks of how easily Keith had sidled up to him the day before, and a part of him, self indulgent, still hopes for it.

Keith goes tense, then relaxes. He does not close the distance.

So Shiro accepts this, and surveys the room. Pidge is laying on the floor behind the couch on her stomach, laptop running scripts in front of her without her input. Hunk is seated on the couch, facing backwards with his chin on his arms to face her, and Lance is beside him with a juice pack in his hands.

Matt is probably with Allura and Coran in the command room. There is an intel meeting soon, and Allura always gets just a touch impatient just before them. Shiro isn't looking forward to explaining this particular alliance to Keith. It still doesn't sit well with him, even if it _is_ endearing to see Allura nearly reduced to a giddy teenager.  
  
The poll in the middle of the room is all tallied out. For Matt, the results have settled on "short," which Shiro suspects is primarily to annoy him. He doesn't foresee it being enforced. For Pidge and Keith, "long" has won out.  
  
“So I guess we don't need to do anything,” Pidge says conversationally, completely ignoring Matt's tally, and giving a nod to Shiro. As if she somehow intuitively _knows_ how distracting Shiro finds Keith's long hair. It wouldn't surprise him. "I'm kind of glad."

"Thought you said you didn't care," Lance says.

Pidge shrugs. "There's positive and negatives. You get used to not having to brush your hair so much when it's short, but - I liked it long. It was hard to let it go, you know? When I had to cut it at the Garrison."

Hunk sits upright like struck by a thought. "Oh! That's right, in that photo - it was you. With the long hair. We didn't know you back then."

"Mom wanted me to grow it out and… I didn't hate it."

"Don't be shy," Lance teases. "You're really just a girly girl, deep down."

Pidge and Hunk both snort in amusement.

"I don't think hair length is a good measure," Hunk offers.

"Yeah," Pidge agrees. "Otherwise - Keith's the girliest one around."  
  
"Ha ha," Keith says, voice flat.

Pidge raises her hand defensively. "I think it looks nice. Besides, I can't criticize or anything. I didn't cut my hair this whole time out either, so... Same boat."

There is a look of guilt that crosses Keith's face, his lip pulling between his teeth before he quickly shakes it off. He replaces it with distance, going quiet and turning to look away.

Always trying to smooth things over, Hunk jokes, "I'm surprised you didn't just, you know, hack it short with your knife."

Keith opens his mouth like he wants to answer this, but closes it again without a word.

"Yeah, couldn't turn out any worse than it usually looked," Lance said, snickering.

Hunk says, "Aw, I thought it was nice before. It was like… Iconic. Not that his long hair's bad, though."

"Maybe Allura can show him how to put it in a bun?" Pidge suggests.  
  
"I think he's more suited to ponytails and braids."

“I'm present, actually,” Keith reminds them, blandly.

“I guess we're just used to talking about you like you aren't,” Hunk says.  
  
Keith rolls his eyes, and somehow it's a relief to see him almost playful, like this. “Great. What do you usually say?”

“That you're great and we miss you,” Hunk says, both joking and sincere.

“That shit was hard without being able to form Voltron,” Pidge chimes in.

“Language,” Shiro chides, and forces a laugh to pretend he does not feel out of place interjecting after so long in silence.

They don't get to relax much longer. Matt calls them into the command room.  


***  


“You know, right?" Lance asks. "That Zarkon is dead?"

Shiro waits expectantly for some kind of sarcastic remark, but Keith's eyes are steeled and serious. Voltron team briefings have never exactly been professional, least of all when Lance is steering the conversation, or when there isn't an immediate threat on their doorstep, but Keith is all-business.

"Yes."

Lance visibly falters, but presses on. "Aaand you know who did it?"

"Or more accurately," Pidge interjects, "who _didn't_?"  
  
It's almost unnerving how cool Keith remains, eyes flicking up as he reviews the details in his mind. "Seeing as how Red was with me the whole time, there's no way it was Voltron. But that's what everyone is saying."

"For the time being, we've decided that it's best to capitalize on this. If it's for the greater good," Allura begins, diplomatic. Her carefully practiced resolve is still steeped in guilt, but at least she's stopped sounding so hesitant about it.

If Keith takes issue, it doesn't show on his face. "Sounds right," he says. Then, eyes darting away from Allura's like he can't handle her shame, "That's probably what they wanted. Whoever really did take him down."

"You think so too?" Hunk asks. "Otherwise they woulda come forward, right? Contacted us? Anything?"

Keith does not respond. He just looks back to Allura, awaiting further information.

Shiro speaks up next. "Maybe we should work backwards from there before getting further ahead."

Allura nods. "After we were separated… Pidge was able to locate the castle. From there, she located Shiro, followed by Hunk and Lance. And although we searched for you…"

There is an uncomfortable silence. It carries their mourning for all the time it had taken, all of them too conscious of their failure.

"We were often on the run," Allura resumes, tactfully. "The galra were able to track us through Zarkon's connection to the black lion. And without Voltron, we were near powerless to fight back."

"We basically just warped around, looking for Red, helping planets and making allies where we could, and then running away again," Pidge supplies.  
  
To demonstrate, Allura pulls up a three-dimensional map all around them. Golden lights flick on across the blue, marking their alliances. Keith's eyes scan over them with an ease of understanding that Shiro cannot quite wrap his head around.

Shiro reminds himself that it isn't as though Keith had ever taken this lightly.  
  
“We warped so much that the tech broke down. Pidge and I had to go get more warp-thingies from the _stomach_ of a _giant space alien the size of a planet,_ Keith,” Hunk moans. “It was not fun, not pretty, and I almost died. If it weren't for that galra, I don't know...”

Shiro does not miss the way Keith opens his mouth to question this.  
  
Hunk just continues, “Do you know what it's like to be in a room full of _un-vomitted vomit?_ Because I do, now!”

Lance frowns. “Gross, dude.”

“It was grosser to be there,” Hunk asserts, sounding bitter. "Since someone else had gotten there before us, it was like… Collecting leftovers. But… _In_ leftovers…"

“A testament to your growth that you didn't throw up, yourself,” Pidge says.

“Mouthpiece had to be up on my helmet, or I probably would have.”

Shiro realigns them, speaking with authority. “Can we move past the puke talk?”

Allura shoots him a grateful look, then clears her throat. "With these small, yet numerous missions of good will, things continued for some time. Until…"

Pidge interrupts with a theatrical choking sound, drawing a line across her throat with her finger. "Bleugh. Zarkon kicked the bucket."

"What do you know?" Keith asks.

"Not a lot," Matt says. "The rebels I had been working with around then had picked up some radio transmissions, but decoding them was borderline impossible. We tried to make contact since – hey, same team – but never got a response."

"Transmissions," Keith echoes, sounding distant.

"Didn't get much. They were running a rescue mission, I guess? One of their guys must have been captured. And lots of talk about a warp. Nothing too significant, and they were the only notable interceptions around that time."

Hunk says, "Shiro was able to deepen his bond with the black lion enough to keep Zarkon from tracking us, eventually. So we didn't think much of it when he didn't come after us for a while."

"Do you know how _weird_ it is to learn, like, a week after the fact, that someone else beat you to the punch?" Lance asks.  
  
There is an amused quirk at the corner of Keith's mouth. "You didn't even find out for a week?"

"When did _you_ find out, then?" Lance huffs.

Keith rolls his eyes at the childishness and doesn't rise to the bait.

"We waited," Allura says. "We hoped that the true heroes would make themselves known. Naturally, they would be welcomed into the Voltron Coalition with open arms, but… There was nothing. No claims were made in any manner we could discern. Or that anyone else could discern, for that matter. It wasn't us that began circulating the story that Voltron had defeated Zarkon…"

"But it made everyone so… Hopeful," Pidge interjects. "Like a superhero that saved the day. It just seemed counter productive to correct them."

Coran adds, "Spreading hope is largely the most we'd been able to do without Voltron. Putting on shows and uniting communities in freedom, inviting them to join us."

"Can we do more shows?" Lance asks. "I want to do more shows."

The smile Keith had been fighting back breaks through, and he turns his head to laugh into his shoulder. "They were terrible, though."

Shiro coughs self consciously, wholly in agreement but too polite to say it in front of Coran, who is already crossing his arms defensively. Terrible or not, mishaps or no, they had worked.

 _But more importantly_ , Shiro thinks…

"You saw them," Pidge says, on the same train of thought, all the emotion wrung out of her tone by her own desire to not sound suspicious.

"They were broadcast everywhere. They weren't… Coded rebel transmissions on hidden frequencies or anything," Keith points out.

"He spent some time with a small rebel group," Shiro offers, and as the word passes his lips he realizes that Keith had never said it was _small_.

"But you couldn't get to us?" Hunk asks, with only curiosity and not an ounce of suspicion.

Shiro raises his hands up, mediating an argument before it happens. He is reminding himself when he says, "You know it's not that easy. With the red lion in such bad shape, catching a broadcast and being able to get to the next show in time are two different matters. And social media isn't exactly thriving in space, even now."

 _But it should have been enough to contact us,_ Shiro thinks.

He doubles down, and almost feels as if he is defending Keith out of pure habit. "I'm sure he did everything he could to reach us."

Lance sighs. "I miss twitter."  
  
Pidge sighs, too. "I miss the internet."  
  
"Space internet has more stuff," Matt points out. "Just – totally different stuff."

Pidge shakes her head. "But it's not exactly the internet, it's all localized databases… It makes communication and sharing information totally different from what I'm used to."

"I will concede," Matt says, "I also miss twitter."

There is a collective moment of silence for twitter, but Shiro feels on equal footing with Allura and Coran's confusion.

Pidge clears her throat, then gestures. "Anyway, I managed to track down Matt."

"I can see that," Keith says, but gives Matt a cursory nod.

Matt grins at him, then tells Pidge, "We've met, actually."

Lance blinks. "When?"

"Back at the Garrison," Shiro answers for them.

Keith and Matt had never been close, really. Had only met in passing, because as time went on, anyone who knew Shiro knew Keith. He still remembers the uncomfortable line of questioning from Matt after Shiro's break up with Adam. The air Matt had put out, as if he was generously keeping a secret that Shiro had never admitted to in the first place.

Matt saves him from this thought, clapping his hands. "Back on track, please. She also found our dad, and sent him back home safe and sound. And… I think there's one more bombshell to drop on Keith."

Allura steeples her fingers. "There's no delicate way to say this. We've formed an alliance with Lotor, Zarkon's son."

Plenty of other things should have caught Keith off guard, but failed to. Not this – his eyes go wide and his eyebrows shoot up. He looks to Shiro as if no one else could be trusted to confirm, and when Shiro nods, Keith's frown only deepens. " _Why?_ "

Shiro tries to soothe him. "Believe me, we know how you feel. It isn't something we rushed into."

"Initial hesitations aside, the alliance has been a _huge_ help," Pidge says. Keith relaxes just a fraction. Maybe because Pidge is too analytical, too intrinsically suspicious at her core to not have some faith in. "Haggar cut him off from the empire, but he still has a ton of intel _and_ followers. And he wants peace."

Hunk jumps in to explain, "There's a huge rift within the galra empire. A lot of people still want to follow Haggar's rule just because of how powerful she is, but there are also some who are loyal to Lotor and like his ideas. And then there are factions that have gone totally rogue thanks to some messed up blood purity stuff, since Haggar is Altean and Lotor is half."

Pidge admits, "Considering we've been down a lion, meaning, down Voltron? I don't think we would have accomplished _half_ of what we did without him and his information."

All eyes fall on Keith once more, awaiting his reaction. Shiro watches the way Keith brings slender fingers to his chin, frowning in a thought that can't be read by his expression. He bites his lip.

He must trust Pidge even more than Shiro thought, because eventually he just nods. He still doesn't look pleased, or sound it, but he says, "Alright. If he's on our side."

"He is," Allura says, just a bit quickly. "We've been working to create a ship together – from a comet similar to what the lions were made from."

Keith nods along, easily.

When Allura explains the quintessence field, he sits upright in his seat. His eyes are narrowed with attentiveness, and more than once, Shiro catches him flexing his fingers as if realizing every so often how tightly his own fists are clenched.

Allura goes over the alliances they've formed. The relationships between planets and the supplies they are able to receive. A third of the empire, stolen back from the hands of Haggar.

When it's all laid out, everything they've done, everything they plan to do, Shiro can't help but feel proud. He doesn't _like_ that they made it this far without the full team, but the fact that they did is impressive never the less.

"We've accomplished much, but we've had to run so much," Allura murmurs.

There is a beat of awkward hesitation before Keith says, “Not anymore. Once Red's repaired–”

“–Sorry, but that's gonna be a while,” Pidge interrupts. “A couple weeks. She's in _real_ bad shape.”

Keith's expression falls in something like guilt. Shiro gets it. He feels awful whenever anything happens to Black. Magic or living – he's not sure. But she's his to protect just like he is hers.

Allura sighs. “I'm not keen on rushing you all into battle before you've been training. I'm sure you've all grown stronger, but you've also grown _apart_. You need to be a unified team to be effective.”

“I can start any time."

“First thing tomorrow, then.”

This seems to end their meeting. They disperse as slow as ever. Shiro plans to migrate to Allura and Coran, just to keep himself from gravitating back to Keith. Keith beats him to the punch, quickly rising and approaching Allura.

Shiro hovers by the door, half listening to a conversation between Matt and Pidge, and half listening to Keith ask questions about the quintessence field.  
  
Lance chats with Hunk for as long as he can, but eventually Keith and Allura's easy rapport catches his nerves. Shiro can't fault him for the feeling, but he can certainly fault him for the way he acts on it, clumsily approaching the two of them just to interrupt any way he can.  
  
"You wanna hear how we got the comet?" Lance asks, sidling between Keith and Allura at a respectfully equal distance from both.

"Sure," Keith says, distracted.

"Okay, so, like – there was this ship, all abandoned and dead and stuff. And we found out that in this world, Alteans had won the war but _they_ were the bad guys this time. They had, like, mind control. Which shouldn't even be possible, right? Messed up."

"It is," Keith agrees, but sounds like he is arguing.

"But we also met these crazy rebels." Then Lance bursts out, with enough enthusiasm that even Allura is startled into laughter, "One of them was a double of Shiro!"

Keith blinks. He looks to Shiro, curious, and does not look away even when Lance resumes speaking.

"His name was Sven, though? And he had an accent. And he was actually pretty different."

Keith is quiet so long when Lance pauses for him to reply, that Lance follows his gaze to Shiro.

Their gaze feels expectant, and Shiro offers, "It was… Surreal."

"I hope he got to that space hospital," Lance says, playful. Sven's injury hadn't been so bad, and Slav had been there to take care of him.

But without context, Keith's eyes narrow. "What?"

Lance waves a dismissive hand. "It was just a double, don't worry about it."

Shiro does not understand why this makes Keith snap. A scowl settles over his face and he turns on his heel, leaving without a word.

The room is awkwardly silent in his wake, until Pidge asks, “What'd you do?”  
  
Lance snaps, “Nothing!”

“I'll talk to him,” Shiro volunteers, already heading for the door.  


***  


He corners Keith in a quiet hallway, where he is leaning against the wall with his head tipped back and his eyes closed as if he is fighting off a migraine. Shiro is resolutely not distracted by his neck and the way his hair falls to frame it.

"Hey."

Keith turns his head to Shiro. The remorse on his face seems excessive for something as small as storming out. No, Shiro knows there is more on his mind. But Keith tries to smile for him, so that's something. "Hey."

Shiro takes the smile as a go-ahead, and he steps closer, setting a hand on Keith's shoulder like reflex. Without accusation, he asks, "What's gotten into you?"

"Nothing," Keith lies.

Has Keith's gaze always flicked to Shiro's mouth so frequently? Has he always raised his shoulder up and tilted his head down to press his cheek to the back of Shiro's hand? Shiro thinks of his quiet voice in the hall and reminds himself that mixed messages aren't an invitation to act selfishly.

Shiro exhales. His head is so much clearer now, and it only makes him conscious of how foggy it had been, that night.  
  
"I'm sorry," Shiro mutters. His voice comes out rough, heavy with regret and frustration. He is Keith's mentor. He had wanted Keith to be his successor. When his time is up, when his body decides it's done letting him play pretend at being healthy.

That's not the sort of position you're supposed to fuck someone from.  
  
But it isn't just that. In the first place, it's not the sort of position you're supposed to _lose_ someone from. When you drag someone into space, out to tiptoe along the rims of the universe, balanced at the subtle edge of a knife – it's unforgivable to drop them over the edge when you can't reach to pull them back.

He's played leader like they need him to. He's played healthy, he's played sane.

But he has been out of his mind with worry and it's crashing down on him. He vouched for Keith, he was the reason he was in the Garrison to begin with. It's all a toppled pile of dominoes that he set up and he pushed over. His mind keeps repeating, reminding him, he was supposed to look out for Keith.

He is staring at the floor, and only realizes it when Keith bends down, ducking his head to get into his line of sight. Keith's eyes are deep wells of concern, and the way he gently raises his head up is like a nudge, forcing Shiro to look back up with him.  
  
"It's–" Keith starts, softly, but Shiro interrupts him.

"–No. I know. I'm not saying it was directly my fault we got separated. I was just… Worried about you. I was worried about you, and I _do_ feel responsible for you, and… It's good to have you back."

Keith looks at Shiro like he is saying entirely the wrong thing. It's like he is humoring him when he murmurs, standing so close that he has to tilt his head back to look into Shiro's eyes, "It's good to be back."

"The team needs you," Shiro tries. He wants to shove his foot in his mouth.

Keith goes quiet. He draws away from Shiro, taking a step back and seeming to forget that he'd been backed against a wall. His back knocks into it, and Shiro is painfully aware of the soft _thud_ of his attempt at getting space. "Sure," Keith says, gentle, but skeptical.

There is something else to the way his brow is furrowed. It takes Shiro too long to place it as disappointment. Before he can try again to say the right thing this time, Keith speaks up.

"… Were you alright?" Keith ventures. " _Are_ you alright?"  
  
Shiro laughs, mostly to put Keith at ease. It seems to work; his body loses some of its tension. It's been a constant ebb and flow since he got back.

"I'm fine. I've still got a few good years left in me. Probably."  
  
"Probably," Keith echoes. He is quiet. Then, "I wanted to come back to you. I swear that I did."

"I believe you," Shiro says.

He does. He does, without question, without a doubt in his mind.

But the thing is – Keith said he _wanted_ to come back to them. Not that he had tried.  
 

***

  
The next afternoon, Coran suggests the visualization exercises. Keith frowns, and Shiro finds himself leaping to his rescue and shooting that idea down. Besides, he isn't sure he could hold his concentration too well, either.

Instead they do combat training, holding up their shields under rotating fire.

They last longer than they used to.

Shiro is careful to take stock of them all – of their strengths and weaknesses. Lance is all sharp-eyes and sharp movements, cutting from one block to the next in slices. Hunk shields Pidge like their lives really do depend on it. Firm stance. Small movements. Pidge is quick, moving fluid from blocking one hit to the next, like dancing, her feet turned to twirling, curling vines. It isn't that she is dexterous, Shiro thinks, but that she knows to conserve energy and use momentum to her advantage. It's all calculation.

Shiro tries to be as smart. He reads the angles of approaching shots. His foot knocks against Keith's as they step together continuously, side by side. Keith's movements are less reckless than they were before. More practiced. Not enough prediction, but full awareness, and still dangerously throwing all of himself into blocking each shot.

“Calm down a little,” Lance teases, just as observant.

Keith doesn't retort, but Shiro scolds him anyhow. “Lance.”

The shots are coming faster. This has been going on too long. Lance has to bite out, “I'm _kidding_ , jeez. Samurai's movin' smooth. Plenty of practice while you were gone?”

This time Keith snaps, “ _Yes_ , Lance, plenty of practice. Shut up and pay attention.”

“I'm going to let you all get hit,” Pidge says, out of breath. She is always the first to tire, despite her efforts; Shiro isn't surprised.  
  
“Cruel,” Hunk comments.

She assures him, “Not you,” before promptly failing to block a shot to the back of Hunk's knee. He falls through the exercise room floor with an indignant cry. In response, Pidge drops her shield and says, “Solidarity,” allowing herself to be hit and fall as well.

Just the three of them left. They back up into each other until their shoulders brush. “Same as before,” Lance comments.  
  
Shiro almost dreads dealing with the two of them like this.

“This is nothing like before,” Keith mutters.

“Both of you,” Shiro warns.

"Don't take it out on me just because you're all moody from some lovers spat this morning," Lance huffs.  
  
Shiro chokes – misses a shot that Keith lunges to block for him. " _What?!_ " Keith snaps.

"My lips are sealed, guys, don't even worry!"  
  
Shiro's brain is record-scratching. "What?" He repeats.  
  
"I didn't eavesdrop! I don't know about all the sexy details," Lance says, defensive, but still insisting on waggling his eyebrows.

"Sexy–" Keith repeats, incredulous. He angles his shield for the best coverage he can manage as he whirls on Lance, knocking a threatening fist against his chest-plate. "Whatever you think you heard, you were _wrong_."

If Shiro is honest, he's impressed at the way Lance instinctively angles his shield beside Keith's to cover them both. Even if it does mean more work for Shiro, left to his own devices if he wants to really keep any of them in the game.

"I didn't hear _anything_ ," Lance huffs, then immediately contradicts himself. "Come off it, I was just kidding. But if you wanted privacy, maybe you should have chosen a better spot than the training room! It's for _everyone_ , you know!"

This is the first time Shiro has been in the training room today.  
  
Keith throws down his shield and in one swift move, steps behind Lance to knee him in the back of the leg. The end result is all three of them getting pelted, then falling through the floor.

When Shiro has successfully peeled Keith off of Lance, the both of them huffing and fussing like children but both without a real scratch on them, Coran steps in with their results.  
  
“One varga and forty seven dobashes,” Coran reports. “Give or take a few ticks. Given that this was your first practice in such a long time, and that your original time was about… Two ticks, I don't think we have any worries for this exercise. Except for some, ah, behavioral issues.”

Shiro appreciates that Coran swallows back any other complaints he wants to voice, leaving it all  said with just a quick glare in Keith's direction. Coran drifts to Lance to help him up.

They're both playing favorites, Shiro thinks, but even he can tell that Lance was only teasing. Keith overreacted.

Lance sticks his tongue out at Keith, and against what Shiro expects, Keith sticks his tongue out _back_ , until Shiro steers him away by the hip.  
  
When they're alone, Keith mutters, as if indignant about entirely the wrong thing, "It's not like I wasn't training while I was gone."

"You did great," Shiro says, consolingly.

Keith looks at him, brow furrowed. The maturity he'd had yesterday is fragmented today, and he seems to realize it. He crosses his arms. "Sorry," he says, the word coming out harsh. "I'll – apologize to Lance, later."

"Be sure you do." Shiro knows he doesn't sound as stern as he should. "And be sure he apologizes too."

Keith is quiet.

Shiro knows he is fishing for something Keith does not want to say, but even so, he tries. "He… Shouldn't be eavesdropping. Or trying to tease about it."

"He misheard," Keith says severely, so fast he nearly interrupts Shiro. "We're not having – you and I aren't–"  
  
"–Lovers," Shiro finishes for him, frustrated at how awkward it sounds.

Keith looks relieved to have it voiced, and that pierces Shiro like a knife, but he takes it with grace. "Right. You weren't… He's just being stupid. You weren't even there."

Shiro asks himself: _then who was?_

***  


When he tires of doing push ups in his room in the evening, Shiro heads to the kitchen. With luck, Hunk will be there, half-way through making something tasty. It's usually a 50/50 gamble.

No such luck, tonight, but someone else is there.

“Shiro,” Lance greets, sitting on the counter-top with a juice pack hold in both hands.

“Lance," Shiro answers with a smile. "You should be in bed. It's late, and we're right back into training tomorrow.”

“Soon,” Lance says. Then asks, “How's he doing?”

Shiro wonders if Keith has apologized to him yet. He raises an eyebrow and says, not unkindly, “You could ask him.”

Lance grins and repeats, "Well, it's late."

Shiro cracks another smile. But he thinks of Keith's mournful voice in the hall, and the voice he couldn't place that had soothed him. For once, it can't be him that helps Keith, Shiro reminds himself. He says, “He's probably still up, knowing him. And you may not believe this, but I don't think he'd mind the company.”

Lance squints at him, as if trying to discern a deeply hidden meaning. "I already apologized, if that's what you're trying to get at. I know, I know, eavesdropping is bad and I should have kept what I heard to myself. Privacy for all, and all that."

Shiro frowns. "Actually, about that. Do you mind telling me what exactly you heard?"  
  
The way Lance is looking at him gives Shiro the distinct impression that he thinks this is a trap.

"Just – I was just teasing. I really didn't hear a lot," Lance says slowly, like taking cautious steps. "I heard Keith apologizing to you."

"To me," Shiro repeats.

"And I know, I know, you told him it was _still fine_ , or whatever. But he still seems kinda messed up over whatever it is." Lance softens, then, his shoulders deflating. "I know that I shouldn't be picking on him. It's just… What we used to do. It was like our _thing,_ you know? Play fighting a lot. And real fighting too, but – not that bad."

"I know," Shiro assures him. "Don't worry about it. Everyone is feeling a little delicate, but no one is holding a grudge."

"Tell that to Keith," Lance says, but the knowing look on his face means nothing to Shiro. The secret he thinks they are sharing is a secret from Shiro. Lance's expression turns to a more hesitant smile. Softly, kindly, Lance asks, "So, what'd he even do?"

"Nothing," Shiro answers, honest by reflex.

Lance leans further back, letting his eyes drift away from Shiro and up towards the ceiling, intuitively giving him privacy in his discomfort. He takes a sip at his juice, until the emptiness of the pack gargles up the straw. Then Lance says, "Maybe he just feels bad for not making it back to us sooner."  
  
"Maybe."  
  
"Where do you think he was? That whole time.”

Shiro is quiet for far too long for a non-answer, he knows. Too long to claim he hasn't thought about it, doesn't know something. Eventually he sighs. “You know... I was missing for a year, and I still barely remember much of it. And I know that's different, because it's from...”

 _Trauma,_ Shiro thinks, but chooses not to say. Lance meets eyes and this time it is Shiro who looks away

“It's not the same. But I do know that one of the things that... Got to me pretty bad was the solitary confinement. I know Keith may seem like he prefers to be alone, and maybe he really does, but it's different when it's forced.”

Lance presses, “What about when he was with that rebel group? At least he wasn't alone the whole time.”  
  
“It sounded like that was only for a short time.”

“Shouldn't he have kept contact with them? So they could join the coalition and stuff?”

"We didn't _have_ much of a real coalition until fairly recently. And we don't know what their resources were like. We don't know anything about them."

"Huh," Lance says. He hops down from the counter and tosses his empty juice pack. As he passes him to leave, he pats Shiro on the back. "Well, good talk. You love birds keep–"

"–Lance," Shiro interrupts. When Lance pauses and looks up at him expectantly, Shiro has to clear his throat, feeling awkward again and trying to summon back his brave leader persona. "It's not just about laying off of Keith for a while. We really aren't…"

Lance blinks. "Oh." He says. His cheeks burst with color. "Oh! I just – sorry, I just assumed – it sounded like – just the way you… Oh. Man, that's awkward."

"It's not," Shiro lies, forcing a smile and knowing it doesn't look right. "It's not, don't worry about it. I just didn't want that misconception hanging over anyone."

Shiro is not quite sure what to make of the consoling way Lance pats him again before leaving.  


***  


Shiro can't sleep. This isn't uncommon. He's always wanted to follow the rules, to be the picture perfect military man. In bed by 21:00, up by 5:00. But the truth is, most nights, he is up until at least midnight, often laying in his bed, in the dark, for hours at a time.

He's usually fine with using the time to meditate, but his mind is a mess. Like he isn't in control of it.

It is nearly three in the morning when the knock comes.

Shiro rises, feeling his muscles protest after hours of stillness, and crosses the room to open the door.

Light pours in from the hall, blinding, and it carries in a heavy weight that falls against his chest. Shiro stumbles back a step from the impact, the door closing again. His mind struggles to kick start, but five seconds into the embrace he understands that this is Keith. Collapsed into his arms and holding him tight, body heaving with every breath.

Shiro reaches down, holding Keith's chin in his fingers to tip his head back and look him in the eyes.

Keith's face is flushed and his eyes are glassy. Dazed and unfocused as they look up at Shiro as if through a haze. Keith looks down to Shiro's mouth, to his collarbone, then back up to his eyes. Swallows thickly. The rise and fall of his chest against Shiro's is dramatic.

"What's wrong?" Shiro asks, scanning his face as if he could read his sickness on it. "Do you need–"  
  
"–You," Keith interrupts, hands slipping to Shiro's hips and squeezing, tugging Shiro towards him.   When there is no space left between them, Shiro can feel the heat radiating off his body, can feel his erection through his pants. "Need you – again. Is that – can I?"

Shiro intends to say no this time, really he does.

But Keith's hands lift to cup his face so gently, so lovingly, that he cannot bring himself to refuse their guiding pull. Their lips slot together like a matching set of gears, practiced and shaped just for one another.

And for the next three nights, Keith shows up to Shiro's room. His skin is boiling and his breath is hot as smoke, and Shiro gets his wish after all. He gets to push deep inside of him and press him down into the bed by his shoulder blades. Gets to tug his hair and bite his neck. It's worth the hit that his heart takes, knowing that it's just stress relief – that nothing changes in the day.

It's worth it for how wantonly Keith arches his back when they fuck. And how expertly he suckles along the side of Shiro's cock, thumbing over its spit-slick head until the feeling is so overwhelming that tomorrow no longer exists.

It's a fever-dream. In the mornings Keith is gone. In the afternoons he is at Shiro's side, his right hand man – still professional and still friendly, but nothing more. It's an almost-perfect act. Sometimes he looks at Shiro like they are in love, and sometimes he looks at him like he knows he is a knife in Shiro's heart.

But mostly, he just looks at Shiro like he always has, like he will not be moaning Shiro's names against his lips when night falls and like the thought does not cross his mind.

Shiro tries to shake off the intrusive thought. If it is going to happen tonight, it will be much later. 

This particular evening, they have an annual conference with Lotor.

Shiro can see the tension in the others, all just slightly on edge for him and Keith to interact for the first time. Unfortunately, they aren't wrong to be nervous.

"How wonderful," Lotor tells them, his image on the screen seeming to lean forward with a sincere excitement. "At last, Voltron is whole again! I'm well acquainted with how difficult it can be to go on when you lose your allies. I'm so pleased for all of you to have been reunited."

Keith is quiet until Pidge elbows him lightly, then he mutters a, "Yeah. So great."

These meetings are sometimes just formality. Sometimes just an excuse, Shiro thinks, for Allura and Lotor to see each other's faces, hear each other's voices. He still can't hate them, even if they drag on, even if they're pointless. Not if it makes Allura happy.

"I trust you received the intel?" Lotor asks.

Allura nods, doing a good job of keeping professional. "Yes. We're near the Zolarys system, so we'll continue on to invite all we can to the coalition on our way. Our last stop will be our rendezvous with you to complete work on the ship in just over one movement."

"That's like a week," Lance whispers to Keith, standing at his other side. Hunk kicks Lance in the ankle, which Shiro imagines is solely to keep Keith from doing worse.

Lotor rattles off the facts of the planets and societies they will be visiting. He goes over which files to reference for each, engaging in pleasantries with each of them the whole time. Save for Keith, who keeps his mouth shut tight, keeping almost completely out of the conversation.

"Oh," Pidge blurts out, moments before the feed cuts, when they have already said their goodbyes.

Lotor pauses. "Yes?"

"It's nothing urgent, but I was wondering if you could help me look into something! Parts of the castle's database are still corrupted, so there's some info I wanna dig around for in yours."

Lotor only has to consider this for a moment before nodding. "That's no trouble at all. Send me a message privately and I'll see to it that you get what you need."

The feed flicks off, and Shiro feels guilty for being among the many eyes to fall on Keith.

His lips are pursed tight, violet eyes sharply set on the floor and his arms crossed over his chest. He doesn't even have to look up to ask, "What?"  
  
"What do you mean, _what?_ " Lance huffs. "Look, I get it, he's – we didn't like this at first, either. But he's been really good."

"He's Zarkon's _son_." Keith snaps.

"No one gets to choose their parents," Hunk offers. "I mean, remember how that galra helped me in the weblum? They're not _all_ bad."

"Believe me, I know that," Keith mutters.

"Just try to keep an open mind," Shiro suggests. "This is an important alliance for us."

Keith looks at him like a man betrayed, but only for a moment before seeming to give in. His expression shifts into a mask of neutrality, and he says, "Fine. Yeah. I'll behave."  


***  


The planet Boire is safe from the galra empire, but has a problem with pirates. Lance and Keith work together to capture a ringleader, and when Lance teases Keith on the way back into the castle, Keith snorts a fond laugh instead of fussing.

In the evening, Shiro thumbs over the scar on Keith's face and doesn't have the courage to ask. "It's fine," Keith tells him. "I like it. I like yours, too."

They curl close beneath the blankets and when they come together, it is with their foreheads touching – and with Keith's hand over Shiro's, holding their cocks together.

The planet Espoir and it's four residential moons need help rebuilding after being overworked for their agriculture. Pidge and Matt help the leaders of their culture to maximize their yields while helping the land to recover – the rest of team Voltron help with manual labor.

Keith falls asleep in Shiro's bed before Shiro even makes it back from the showers. Shiro climbs beside him carefully, makes sure they both have enough blanket, and lets himself relax into the way Keith instinctively wraps an arm around him from behind.

He wakes up in the night to Keith grinding up against him. He turns, angling to let Keith kiss him over his shoulder, arching his back and pushing back against him to show that he's awake, that he wants it, too. It's strange how well Keith knows how to work Shiro's body, how confidently he knows how and when to touch.

On the planet Leat, their issues are in communication _and_ travel. All their ships too damaged to fly to the nearby planets and ask for help. They stay on this planet for three days, all of them working over-time, following Pidge and Hunk's specific instructions and repairing everything they can.

There is no time to discuss it in the day, but it does not seem right to do so in the night, either. It seems impossible to keep his head on straight with Keith's fingers rubbing just the head of Shiro's sensitive cock, with Keith's lips and tongue suckling his shaft. His cock pulses, hot and hard under Keith's touch, and Keith almost laughs.

He seems so in control in these moments that it is a relief to see him break, to see him writhing, riding Shiro's cock as Shiro sits at the edge of the bed. The scar over his shoulder shifts and moves with the tension of his back muscles, and he bites back sound as he strains to lift and drop again and again.  


***  


“So, fun fact,” Pidge says, leaning away from her screen, as if she expects that everyone will already be staring over her shoulder in rapt attention.

Shiro perks up. He and Matt are quick to give her their full attention, but Hunk and Lance continue building their house of cards. Keith appears to be asleep sitting up, at the far end of the couch.

Pidge adjusts her glasses and lets out a long-suffering sigh. She turns all the way around to face them all, making sure her voice reaches the apparently disinterested crowd. “You remember back on that little moon-sized planet Keith was stranded on?”

“Earth's moon-sized,” Hunk nit-picks.

“I wasn't stranded,” Keith says, apparently awake. “Red was just over-heating so I had to make frequent pit-stops, and it was the closest–”

“–The one with the petunias?” Lance interrupts.

“Petunia-like flowers.” Hunk corrects.

“And no sky?” Lance adds.

"No _atmosph_ –"

Before they can get more obnoxious, Shiro cuts Hunk off, desperately prompting, “–Yes, Pidge?”

“Those 'petunias' you saw,” she begins. Hunk opens his mouth, but shuts it again when Shiro stares him down. Pidge continues, head cocked for the tangent: “Well, they were actually a lot closer to strawberries, which is bizarre, because they don't actually bear any fruit or anything.”

“You a botanist, now?” Hunk asks, impressed.

“She is the green one,” Lance offers.

Matt points out, "But she hates the outdoors."

"I don't _hate_ the outdoors, I just _prefer_ the _indoors_."

"Nerd," Lance whispers.

Shiro sighs, but gives up on interrupting them.

Pidge still gets them back on track. “Anyway, it's not like I did the research myself,” she says. Then, as if it is somehow less impressive than botany, explains, “I just analyzed the flowers because they covered the whole surface of the planet, which was interesting to me, especially since it didn't have a traditional atmosphere of its own. Then I cross-referenced the genetic make-up with all the flowers in the castle's data-base.”

Shiro murmurs, curiously, “So the castle had recorded information on that place before,” at the same time as Lance asks, “Why did that take you so long?”

“To answer to _both_ your questions,” Pidge snaps, clearly more at Lance than anyone else. “The castle didn't have anything I could salvage. So it wasn't a huge priority or anything, but remember our last conference with Lotor? He gave me a bunch of their data to look at, too. I was gonna just wait until I got some new Rovers to steal info from, since most of them are linked to some database or another, but I got impatient.”

“I think you shouldn't name every robot you steal 'Rover,'" Lance says.

“Suggestion noted and dismissed.”

“Sweet.”

“So like... Multiple worlds worth of Google searching?” Hunk asks. “What's that, a... Googleplex?”  
  
"It's amazing is what it is." Matt praises.

“Anyway,” Pidge tries again. “Fun fact about those strawpetunias!”

All eyes are finally on Pidge, all her hard work finally ready to pay off. Lance accidentally knocks down the card-house. Hunk bites back his wail out of respect for Pidge and her efforts, but slumps dramatically over the table.

Pidge ignores him and says, “They're called tria flowers, and they're aphrodisiacs, when combined with the right stuff.”

Lance says, “Whats,” just as Keith coughs loudly.

Shiro's brain screeches to a halt. It stops on a dime and try as he might, he can't restart the engine.

Hunk is already prepared to explain to Lance, looking up from where he remains sprawled over the table. “It means they increase your libido.”

“That sounds terrible,” Lance says. “My libido is already–”

“–Lance,” Shiro interrupts.

Hunk asks, “How potent? Like, would you have to eat a hundred of them? They're tiny. Like... Mini-flowers. Or is it in pollen or something? It can't be that strong since it never got to any of us, even Keith, and he was like... Stuck there. For a while.”

Shiro connects a hundred dots in his mind and hates the finished picture. “Uh. Yeah, how do they work?”

Pidge doesn't seem think too deeply on his why he's asking, too caught up in the results of her research. “Seems like water makes the pollen release into the air, then it just kind of sticks to whatever's closest. Then it has to touch something – or someone, I guess – warm enough to... Activate it? So – water and high temperatures. Otherwise it just doesn't do anything. I found some texts about how it used to be made into tea for marriage rituals on some planets, but it was like... A modern essay, talking about how it's just a tradition now and those cultures all use look-alike flowers, these days. So that was pretty interesting.”

"Huh. We're always finding out about new cultures, but I never thought much about their lost traditions. That's pretty interesting," Hunk says. Then shoots Lance a pointed look, grinning from ear to ear. "Bet you're mad you didn't come back with a bouquet to keep."

"Actually," Pidge says, adjusting her glasses, "I would have liked it if we had."

Hunk only raises an eyebrow at her, to a background ambience of Matt shrieking.

"To analyze, for one," she says. Then her expression turns mischievous. "I bet I could have made something _real_ interesting. They're more potent to some races than others, and that includes the galra. _Apparently_ they can trigger their heat cycles."

"Like kitties?" Hunk asks, eyes twinkling at the comparison between their ominous enemy and cute fluffy house pets. "They go into _heat?_ "

Shiro coughs. "That… Would certainly be a distraction for them."

He wonders how the dots are not connecting for anyone else. Keith's first act back on the ship being a hot bath had kind of been a big deal.

Maybe it had been less memorable for those who hadn't stayed through it. Hadn't washed his hair and touched his wet skin and traced over his new scars for themselves.

Keith is staring at Shiro, expression painfully unreadable. Shiro does not know how to acknowledge him or how react to him or – anything. The discomfort is settling in his gut, a sinking feeling. He is stupider than he thought.

He doesn't know what he had thought, but of course. Of course it was something like that.

Shiro knows that blurting out that they need to talk immediately would be suspect. Sitting through the rest of an uneventful afternoon is torture. Keith is lucky to be so antisocial. No one makes a fuss when he wanders off, but even following him too quickly might raise eyebrows.

Or maybe it's all in his head.  
  
When the conversation finally dies enough for Shiro to leave without suspicion, he tries to find Keith. He doesn't make it far before Matt finds him first.

His smile is disarming, but Shiro knows him too well to really be at ease.

"I think Pidge was too caught up in her little discovery to really think about the implications," Matt tells him. "But Keith went white as a sheet, so what's up?"

"You sound like you already know."

Matt grins, lopsided. "I think – it's about time. Yeah?"  
  
Shiro looks resolutely ahead as he walks down the hall. "I don't know what you mean."

"Keith has been in love with you since he was like fifteen." Matt must read on Shiro's face that this was not a comforting idea, and amends, "Look, he's not fifteen _anymore_."  
  
"Thanks for the permission," Shiro says, dryly.

"It was aphrodisiacs the first time, right?" Matt asks, apparently in possession of zero boundaries.

Shiro feels heat creeping up the back of his neck. He does not answer, but that's enough confirmation for Matt in itself.

"Then what about after that?"  
  
"I don't know," Shiro admits. "Just fooling around, maybe? It's… Hard to talk about."

"With him or with me?" Matt asks.

Shiro smacks him lightly. " _Both_."

Laughter bubbles from Matt as he playfully stumbles forward. He quiets in an instant at the sound of a voice, his eyes darting to meet Shiro's. The both of them quiet.  
  
It wasn't Keith's voice, and the others are all still near the common room.

"Do you want me to get Krolia?" the voice asks, through the white noise of a communicator. "Or Kolivan? Actually, I bet anyone here would know about this, if someone else would be less uncomfortable."

Matt's eyes blow wide, his head snapping to look at Shiro. Shiro can't understand. It feels like there's a sudden ringing in his ears, or water sloshing inside his head. He can't place the voice. It's familiar, but wrong. Like he would know it if it were just a pitch different.

He understands why when Matt mouths silently, _that's your voice._

They don't have time to think about this.

Keith's voice comes next, soft. "Kolivan, I guess." He sighs, then murmurs, "Thanks. Love you."

Shiro's heart stops. Maybe he had been about to take a step farther, been about to round the corner, because Matt's hand is fisted in his shirt, holding him in place.  
  
Another man's voice comes through, much deeper and his tone serious. "Keith. Now you've been afflicted by the tria flower?"

There is a silence before an uncomfortable shift of Keith's weight. "A while ago. When I first made contact with Voltron. Pidge just told me what it is. I'm sorry, I thought it was just, I don't even know, but it's – it's like it gets worse at night. How long does it take to just run its course?"  
  
"Longer than we have."

"Of course." There is a soft thud of Keith's head against the wall. "Can't believe this. Isn't there some way to just hurry it along?"

There is a silence, some nonverbal response that must be a no, because Keith sighs. Then Kolivan says, "It will peak soon, then end."

" _Soon,_ " Keith repeats, dissatisfied. Keith mutters, "I hate this. How do you deal with – ugh, never mind. Can't I – can I come back until it's over with?"

For the first time, there is a hint of sympathy in the other man's voice. "It wouldn't be wise for you to be near the others like this. But the worst of it will be over soon. The mission comes first." Then the sympathy is gone. "Don't let your emotions skew your priorities. This is far more important than any one _relationship_ , and you can't risk their trust."

Another long pause fills the air until Keith mutters a dissatisfied, "You're right," sounding like he desperately wants to ask more questions.

"This could work to your advantage," Kolivan says, his tone calculating. "The rendezvous is soon. This… Could be used to manipulate him into vulnerability."  
  
"Oh my God," Keith groans, but does not get a response. "I'm not seducing anyone."

"Understood," Kolivan says, gruff, as if he regrets suggesting it at all.

There is a muffled movement over the communicator, the sound of it overlaid with light static. Then the other voice returns – the voice that is Shiro's. The voice that Keith had said he loves.

"Will you be okay?" Shiro's voice asks.

"Yeah, I think so."

There is a vulnerability that is too familiar in Keith's voice. One that is supposed to be reserved for Shiro alone, but has been fluctuating even for him. Matt's knuckles are white in his shirt.

Keith stumbles over his words. "I can – he, uh… Shiro… Has been helping me. I can probably get by. You're sure that's alright with you?"  
  
"It can't really be cheating if it's still _me_ , right? If anything, he's _more_ me than me."

"Don't say that," Keith says, gently.

"Kidding."  
  
Shiro's voice laughs, and Keith lets out a quiet puff of air, not quite a laugh in return. "Too bad the wolf can't bring you this far."  
  
"If we get any closer to the castle, the scanners will pick us up. But if you came closer…" Shiro's voice ponders. "Say you're testing the red lion's repairs?"

"Much as I'd like that… I need to stay on Kolivan's good side. The mission is already way too compromised because of me – because I got them involved. And now this. I'm not screwing this up."

"Alright. Whatever you think is best." Another pause. Almost at a whisper, "If you need anything, you know where my priorities are. You know that you're my number one."

"It's because you say stuff like that so easily that Kolivan didn't want to send you with me."

"Well, that and…"  
  
"Yeah, that and." There is a deep fondness in the way Keith says, "Shut up, Shiro."

When their shared chuckling subsides, Shiro's voice says, "I love you. Keep in touch."  
  
"I'm sure it's only a matter of time before my next meltdown, so. Yeah. Will do. Love you too."  
  
Keith's communicator beeps to signal the end of the call, and Matt is already pulling Shiro away. They move as quick and quiet as they can to keep from getting caught.  


***  


Matt appears to be fighting back an existential crisis, which Shiro thinks is wholly unfair. It should be him. It _is_ him. Both of them are in Shiro's bedroom, sitting on the floor and intermittently running hands through their own hair or sighing.

"He needs us to trust him," Matt repeats.

"I do," Shiro says, but saying it doesn't beat the nausea. The sense of betrayal and confusion that sit like acid in his stomach. The way it eats away at him _aches_. "I trust him. Whatever he's doing, he thinks is right."

"Maybe he was with the rebel group the entire time he was missing," Matt says, as if he hadn't heard Shiro. "Maybe he still is."

"Then that's still _good_."

"I'll ask Pidge to start scanning nearby transmissions more diligently. We can – put cameras in his room."

"Matt, we're not _spying_ on Keith."

"Fine," Matt concedes, far too easily. He doesn't really even want to, Shiro is sure. He sets his eyes on Shiro. "Then ask him. Make him explain to you."

Shiro's whole body weighs a thousand pounds, and he slouches. "I will," he concedes. "We have to. We have to give him the chance to explain. Jumping to conclusions isn't going to help anyone."

"If you don't get it out of him, we're going my route. It's not… It's not like I don't trust Keith. I do." At Shiro's skeptical look, Matt frowns deeply. "I _do_. But here's the thing, Shiro. We just heard him talking to _another Shiro._ So who says that's even Keith?"

Shiro's gut clenches. "I would know," he insists. "If it weren't really Keith, I would know."

"He looks older," Matt murmurs, as if he is saying it conversationally instead of as an argument.

"It's been over a year, he hit a growth spurt," Shiro counters.

"He could have found us if he wanted to."

"You don't _know_ that."  
  
Matt heaves out a sigh. He is quiet for a moment, mulling over something as if he does not want to say it. Then, "He could be manipulating you. That's – I'm not trying to… Just think about what we just heard. You've been sleeping together, right?"  
  
Shiro cuts the suggestion short, refusing to acknowledge it. "I'll talk to him." At Matt's skeptical look, he repeats, "I'll talk to him."

He had needed to talk to him already, but somehow what they had overheard seems more important than aphrodisiacs.  


***  


Shiro knows better than to wait for Keith to come to him. He knows better, because he is sure that Keith will only do it when it is late. When they are both already tired, and when Keith is already worked up and needy, kissing away any words Shiro tries to get between them.

Keith is in his own room, and doesn't seem surprised to see Shiro when he answers the door. He steps aside to let him in, already running his fingers through his long hair and sighing.

Of course. He thinks this will be about the flowers, still.

“I don't want to talk about this,” Keith says, almost immediately.

Shiro murmurs, “Well, we need to,” but he does not really believe it anymore. In the face of Keith's secret calls, the flowers and the fooling around are low on the priority list.

Shiro flexes his hands at his sides, overly conscious of how clammy they feel. He had been brave until the door opened. Until he was watching Keith settle down on his bed with a sharp line of shadow drawn across him from the chest up.

His heart aches. _I found you_ , it is crying, _I found you._ But something is wrong about all of this. Shiro knew better than to expect a soft cinematic reunion, knew that even in a perfect world, they are far from an epilogue that can only ever be a tragedy, but this is beyond anything.

Shiro still loves him. Even in the ways that he has changed. Even in the ways that he has changed for the _worse_ , Shiro loves him. He is sharp as a knife and cold, cold where he used to be hot, but Shiro is still drawn to him.

Keith is looking brittle. All he comes up with is: “Well. Now we know. So, what, then?”

They still don't know, Shiro thinks. It was the flowers, and the flowers are gone. Why does Keith still come to him so desperately each night?

No, that wasn't the question.

Shiro leans against the wall, arms crossing in an instinctive desire to close himself off. "Who have you been calling?"

Keith stiffens. "What?"

"You're bad at keeping secrets. You're used to being alone and you're not used to having to go far for privacy. So who have you been calling?"  
  
Keith's mouth is a thin line, as if he thinks he can evade the question by just shutting down.

Shiro shakes his head. He knows that Matt would be exasperated with him, but he still says, honestly, "I trust you, Keith. That's what you need from us, right? I trust you."  
  
Keith exhales, but it isn't a sigh of relief. His shoulders are trembling, body still just as tight. "Then just keep trusting me."

"I can't do that," Shiro says. He wishes that were a bluff, but knows that it will chip away with each day he goes not knowing. "Not forever, not unless you explain."

"What did you hear?" Keith asks.  
  
It's a familiar strategy. Shiro had tried the same thing when he questioned Lance. It's to see what he can still get away with hiding. Shiro shakes his head. "No. I'm not playing that game. Who have you been calling?"

"Allies," Keith says.

"One of them has my name," Shiro says, at length. "And my voice."

Shiro had not thought it was possible for Keith to get any tenser. But he curls in on himself like he wants to disappear, glaring resolutely at his own hands, clenched into fists on his lap.

Shiro knows that he is not supposed to play into this, but Keith is unresponsive. Maybe it isn't playing into his hand to tell him what he knows. Maybe it will break him in just the way Shiro needs to.

"They're following us, aren't they? Just off our radars."

"No," Keith snaps. He raises his head. Sets amethyst eyes on Shiro's. Narrowed, but sincere, Shiro wants to think. "They're not _following_ , they're just – taking the same route. And keeping out of sight."

"Why?"  
  
"Fuck," Keith mutters, instead of answering. He falls backwards onto his bed, knees still bent over the edge. He runs a hand up his face, stopping it with fingers buried in his hair. "Fuck, this is fucked. Kolivan is gonna kill me. Well, he was going to anyway, but."

"No one is killing you," Shiro says, trying to sound equal parts firm and consoling. "I wouldn't let them."

Keith tilts his head to look at Shiro from where he is laying, a wry smile on his lips. "Thanks for the thought."

"If they're your allies, we can work together. If they're really on our side, let me talk to them."

"I already fucked this up on too many steps," Keith says with severity. "I'm not – unless you make me? I'm not telling Kolivan about this conversation. As long as I take care of the rest, it'll be fine. I can – this is still fine. I can still do it."

He sounds so desperate that Shiro cannot keep up his own harsh tone. Keith speaks as if Shiro _could_ make him, as if Shiro is the one in control, here, when he is just drifting helplessly in Keith's undercurrent.

Shiro comes to sit beside Keith, almost afraid the boy will get up and bolt. But he doesn't; he just lays on his back and watches Shiro with an air of surrender, like a trapped animal.

"Do what, Keith?" Shiro asks. "Tell me what's going on so I can _help_ you."

Keith watches Shiro closely, violet eyes darting across Shiro's face as if the give that he is lying could be hidden in a pore. "Do you lo–do you trust me? Shiro?"

Shiro's heart skips a beat at the aborted question. He is answering both when he murmurs, "Always."

Keith tears his gaze away to look up at the ceiling. "What I'm doing is right. I can't tell you anything else. I just need you to trust me."

Shiro's hand rests on Keith's shoulder. When he squeezes, Keith's hand comes to cover his, warm and gentle. It's a nice moment, and Shiro hates to ruin it.

"I need more than that. Matt was with me. He heard too, and if I can't go to him with enough to set him at ease, he's going to spy on you. That would be a bigger hindrance to any plans you have than just telling me, wouldn't it?"

Shiro was never good at lying to Keith.

Keith murmurs, "Yeah. Sounds about right." Shiro doesn't have time to dwell on that before Keith  sits up, still holding their hands over his shoulder. "I don't know what to tell you. I don't know what to tell him."

"You haven't given me anything, Keith. Who is Kolivan? Who is _Shiro?_ "

Keith hesitates. Takes a deep breath before saying, his voice carefully even, "A clone. The galra cloned you when they took you from Kerberos. He's with me, now."

How pathetic is he, that Shiro's first thought is wondering how Keith had meant _with me_ to come out? But that thought slips away. Most thoughts slip away. Along with the feeling in his limbs; the sensation of the stiff mattress and the messy blankets.

Keith's hand squeezes his again. "–Shiro," he says, for what is probably not the first time. He is sitting up beside Shiro.

Shiro has too many questions to ask. He would ask them all, but they aren't articulating in his head. All just fragments _why would they, why do you, what does he, why does he, does he know, is he sick, is he dying, is that why –_ what Shiro says is, "Oh."

"I know that's a lot," Keith says, and it's strange to be comforted by him, now. He is ginger with his touch, careful with his tone. "Believe me, I know. But he's – a person. Just like you and me. Or, just like you, I guess. He has all your memories from before Kerberos."

"Why," Shiro starts, unsure which sentence it was going to become. He feel as if the air in the room has gone thin.

"You can trust him. If you trust me, trust him. And everyone I'm with."

"You're supposed to be with _us._ With Voltron."

He expects an indignant _I am,_ but all he gets is Keith tilting his head and looking the other way. When he finally mutters his "I am," it is too delayed to believe.

Priorities, Shiro tells himself. Priorities. He still says, "He called you baby. You said you loved him."

"Is there a question in there?"

"Not one I know how to ask."

Keith refuses to turn his head back to face him. "Then I don't know how to answer."

"I'll figure out something to tell Matt," Shiro says. It feels more urgent, like when they make last-minute plans to save a planet. A frantic need to protect. He squeezes Keith's shoulder again, and this time Keith looks back to him. "But I need something to work with. Can you give me a timeline? Your… Mission? Anything?"

He doesn't expect the way Keith throws a leg over him, and climbs up to straddle him.

"I'm not letting you distract me," Shiro warns, almost amused.

Keith shakes his head. "I'm not trying to. I just… Needed to…" He trails off, but it seems to have been the truth. He does not initiate anything further, just looking at Shiro from his new seat on his lap. "We got thrown through the wormhole. Red couldn't fly for very far. I drifted, and eventually they found me."

"Who?"

Keith hesitates. "The Blade of Marmora."

"Okay," Shiro's hands come to rest at Keith's hips more comfortably than they should. He coaxes, "Then what?"

"They… Looked after me for a while. Trained me. I helped with the missions they were running against the galra."

"What sort of missions?"

"Destroying cargo ships en route between galra bases. Destroying galra bases. Freeing prisoners. Freeing _obnoxious_ prisoners."

This is all too casual for what it is, but Shiro still cracks a smile. "Sounds like there's a story, there."

"Infinite stories, infinite universes. You already know."

Shiro does not know what to make of that answer, but Keith heaves an annoyed sigh and shakes his head. Then drapes his arms over Shiro's shoulders, fingers massaging into the back of his neck from either side.

 _Manipulate him into vulnerability,_ Shiro remembers.

Keith says, "And that's… About it. I don't know what else to tell you. I've just been with them ever since."

"You're still with them."

"Yes."

"And you trust them?"

"Yes."

There is a question on the tip of Shiro's tongue, and he holds it back as long as he can. It's amazing how Keith can feel so far away, literally sitting on his lap. He wishes he could really relax into this massage.

He knows he is not going to like the answer.

"Did you even mean for us to find you?"

Keith's fingers still.

"No."

It feels like having the wind knocked out of him. Shiro bows his head forward, dropping it until his forehead bumps Keith's shoulder. Keith begins to rub circles into his back, intimate and practiced. Far too natural, but at least Shiro finally understands this strange familiarity Keith has had with his body. The constant back and forth between the intimacy of a lover and – a teammate you never meant to see again.

Keith presses a soft kiss into Shiro's hair.

"It's getting bad again," he murmurs. "It's – what time is it? Always happens at night. Gets too hot."

It takes Shiro a moment to understand. Then Keith squirms, makes a quiet sound in the back of his throat, and it clicks. When Shiro raises his head to speak to him, Keith kisses him quick, pushing their mouths together rough and so hard that it's as if he wants to push Shiro to his back.

"The flowers," Shiro manages, between the stubborn kisses Keith keeps stealing his words with. "Why are they still…"  
  
"Galra heat cycles," Keith snaps impatiently. Then has a moment of clarity and draws back to stare at Shiro with an exhausted look on his face. "Dammit. Okay, there's that. My mom – Krolia, she's in the Blade of Marmora. She's galra."

"How…?"  
  
Keith speaks quickly, as if he thinks he can rush the conversation to a finish line that doesn't exist. "She found the blue lion a long time ago. And my dad. And then she left again and – anyway, it doesn't matter, that's not the point. The point is, I'm a half-breed, and that's why the flowers are _still_ messing me up. So just – please?"

It takes a concentrated effort to hold Keith in place as he tries to push himself closer to Shiro. "This was already complicated," Shiro tells him, "and now it's ten times more. You don't even want–"

"–I don't." Keith's sharp interruption leaves a glass-fracture in Shiro's heart. "But I need. Okay? I can compartmentalize."

"What if I can't?"  
  
Keith looks startled, and Shiro can't quite follow his thinking well enough to understand why. He loves the other Shiro. The other Shiro loves him, and he knows it. At the very least, he'll hear it without arguing, and with Keith, that says plenty.

But his cheeks are flushed and his gaze seems heavy. Even his fingers that trace feather-light along the sides of Shiro's neck are warmer than they were a moment ago.

So maybe he is not really thinking at all, anymore.

As if instinctively reading Shiro's mind, Keith grumbles, "Can't think right now."  
  
"Fine," Shiro concedes, his fingers seeking the hem of Keith's shirt to slip beneath it. "You don't have to."  


***  


They will be arriving at Lotor's headquarters in two more days, and Allura gives a briefing on the quintessence field and how blessed little work is left on their ship. She and Lotor have been in constant communication, coordinating their work even from a distance.

Keith listens attentively, and when she has finished, stands up. "Uh, hey, I have an… Announcement?"

Matt's eyes shoot to Shiro.

"I'm – I found out a lot about myself, while I was out there by myself," Keith says. He falters for just a moment under everyone's attentive gaze, but regains his footing. "Actually, no. I wasn't by myself. You know that I was with a rebel group. They were a group of galra that had been infiltrating and fighting against the empire all along, called the Blade of Marmora. And my mom was a member. The whole story is too long to give you, but that's the important parts."

"Oh, this explains a lot, actually," Lance says, feigning a casual tone. "You're from space."

Keith blinks, startled by the acceptance. "Uh. Not really. But my mom–"

"–So you're halfsies," Hunk says. "Like Lotor."

"… Sure." The way Keith looks to Shiro strikes him as almost performative. He says, "There's a lot more to the story, and I promise you'll hear it all someday. But not all of it is my story to tell."

And Matt relaxes in his seat.

God, Keith is smart. Shiro plays his part, nodding as if he is in on this secret, as if it is _his_ secret to give or withhold permission for.

Shiro knows there is another step to this, one that Keith has silently left him with.

In private, Shiro concedes to Matt, "There's a clone. The galra cloned me, when we were first taken from Kerberos. Keith… Is taking care of him."

As if this clone, his story, is Shiro's business. As if he can justify secrets from the team like they're something intimate when they couldn't be farther from it. Shiro has met a man with his face in a parallel world, and he is _still_ unable to truly process the idea of another _him_ just _existing_ in the universe.

He has to field at least a hundred questions about the galra cloning technology, and he is not even remotely equipped for them. But if it distracts Matt from the other details, then fine.

No, in the end Shiro knows it is not distraction that has kept Matt from asking about the rest. It's trust. Maybe not in Keith, but in Shiro. Trust by extension. The same way Shiro has to trust – the other Shiro.  


***  


At night, Keith steps into Shiro's room, cutting through the dark with the hall light chasing him in.

And God, Shiro didn't realize how badly he needed to get laid during all of this. He knows better than to dismiss the stress this whole situation is introducing, but there's still something to be said for a warm body in your bed each night. For biting the day's pent up frustrations into someone's collar and pulling them closer and closer to your body until you've proven you're both alive.

Every day has scratched at the wall Keith has built around the truth and about himself. Shiro does not think it is getting them anywhere. The wall will not come down beneath his weak fingernails, or even his pounding fists.

This is what he thinks, until Keith is in his room, in his bed, looking lucid at two pm.

"Shiro, Shiro, fuck," Keith breathes, buried deep inside of him, holding Shiro's weak legs up with a trembling grip beneath Shiro's knees.  
 

Shiro knows that he is not exactly the image of dignity, with his own come spilled over his stomach and his whole body still flushed. But there's something that feels particularly shameful about not knowing exactly _which_ Shiro Keith is calling out.

Before he can think of a tactful way to ask, Keith bends down to kiss him on the mouth, body stilling as he comes. Like always, the smoothness of the kiss, easy as habit, is answer enough.

Shiro has the decency to give Keith a moment to pull out and catch his breath.

Then he repeats, tapping his lips pointedly, "Compartmentalizing."

Keith looks at him like a deer in the headlights. He looks ready to bolt.

Shiro heaves himself upright just to grab his pants from the bottom of the bed. Maybe if he's decent, this conversation will work. "Keith. Talk to me. You know this isn't sustainable."

"Habit," Keith mutters, gaze darting away when Shiro tries to meet it.

"You really…" Shiro pauses. It hadn't been in question, really. Keith had just refused to talk about it. "You're really in a relationship with this… Clone? Of me?"

"Yeah," Keith says, his tone spiked and defensive. "So?"

"So – how am I supposed to feel about that?"

Keith swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing. "That's kind of up to you."

Shiro sighs again. He was already exhausted from sex, he shouldn't have tried to have an exhausting conversation. "Can you tell me about… How you two happened?"

Shiro has almost given up by the time Keith eventually says, "Sure."

He was right not to expect it to work. Even as Keith concedes, he is up and grabbing his clothes. Getting dressed like he wants to be ready to leave the first second he can. Like he can't bear to be so vulnerable for this conversation.

Keith dresses, considering how to begin. "Haggar sent him after me. Or – laid him like a trap for me to find. At first he… I don't even think he knew." Keith sits down at the edge of the bed, again. "We found him, and he stuck with us. Stuck with me. Then one night I woke up with his hands around my throat. She was controlling him through the arm."

Keith pulls a knee to his chest, toes curling over the edge of the bed. It's always so easy for him to kick open the trap doors in Shiro's heart; all of Shiro's exasperation falls away when Keith hugs his knee tighter.

"The whole time?" Shiro asks, a terrible malice simmering just beneath his self control. If they were already – if they had _already_ …

Keith shakes his head. "No. Not the whole time. There had been. Well, some things were off. But I don't think he'd noticed. And without the arm, it changed."

His preemptive anger gives way to fear. He looks down to his own arm. No, not his own. He had always tried to think of it as something good from a bad thing, but this settles a terror inside him, a planted seed that won't ever go away.

Keith is watching him sidelong. "I think it's different," he says, with a feigned neutrality. Then he has to admit, looking away again. "I guess I don’t know that for sure."

Shiro laughs dryly. "Great." When Keith deflates a fraction he adds, "Better to know than be caught completely off guard. I'll talk to Pidge about it."

Keith nods. Redirects his attention as if the opposite wall is of utmost importance. "Got him a new arm. Stuck together. That's – I don't know what else to tell you."

"You could just do that? Just _get_ a new arm for him?"

This manages to perk Keith up. He almost looks proud, like he's supposed to be of _their_ team, and not a different one. "We've got some smart guys onboard. Just like you guys. Obnoxious menaces with huge brains."

"How long?" Shiro asks. "I mean, how long have you been… An item?"

Keith snorts. But his proud smile goes soft, something fond and sentimental. "Two years or so. Didn't keep exact track."

Shiro's heart stops. "Keith."

Keith glances up, apparently not catching his own slip up. No, if Shiro is honest, this is the second one.

"That's longer than you've been gone," Shiro ventures.

Keith seems entirely unconcerned and waves a dismissive hand. "Time dilation. Don't stress about it."

Shiro knows that things are strange in space. Of course he knows, he wrote a fucking dissertation on it. Because isn't that what any dying man wants to study? The most plausible form of time travel known to man?

Not that it was worth anything to him in the end. His time limit is still exactly what it was before, and if space has done anything, it's put him at a higher risk.

He asks, "How old are you, Keith?"

Keith blinks, like it had not occurred to him that anyone would care. "Twenty one?"

Shiro is not sure which is worse – the fact that Keith had gone _that_ much longer without them, or the fact that he had not thought it was worth mentioning. The understanding washes over Shiro, not carrying pity, but sympathy. No wonder he had a hard time readjusting. No wonder he had given up on finding them and made peace with his new allies.

Sixteen months, for them. Just over one year.

Three years, for him.

It just keeps echoing in Shiro's head. _No wonder._

The tragedy of this overshadows his other questions for the day.  


***  


Keith is quiet when they meet Lotor in person, but this is to be expected. Shiro does not feel like has to watch him carefully, at any rate, and at least Keith pays attention when Allura and Lotor discuss the quintessence field.

When it comes down to it, there just isn't a lot for the rest of them to do while Allura and Lotor are working.

It's nice to see him get along with the others, though.

Keith holds parts for Pidge and Hunk as they work on their latest project, something for leisure that Shiro does not understand even after Matt has tried to explain it to him. Keith is not doing any better. Pidge and Hunk take turns explaining what they're doing, as they do it, but all Keith does is nod and say, "uh huh," over and over, sometimes exchanging looks with Lance, who only shrugs.

Keith's story is still eating away at Shiro's insides.

"I think Lance can take over your exhausting duties long enough for you to eat something," Shiro says.

Lance looks to the piece of metal that Keith is holding, with a dent cracked into it, sometimes emitting sparks. "Uh, pass?"

It's heartwarming that Keith offers to keep Lance of the hook. "I already ate."

"Sit with me, then."

Keith nods, and Lance mutters, "Traitor," as he takes the broken device.

Shiro does not like the base that Lotor is working from. Galra bases are uncomfortable and oppressive to him, for obvious reasons. He vastly prefers the Altean white-walls of the castle, even if it does sometimes feel a bit too hospital-sterile.

The truth is, Shiro does not hate hospitals. Hospitals did everything they could for him, and always treated him well. They had always felt closer to hotels than anything else, and maybe that should be depressing for what it says about how much they were actually able to help him, but it doesn't matter, now.

He leads Keith to the hangar; at least being near the lions is somewhat soothing, and Lotor and Allura are much too far away, much too busy with their work on their ship to impose on the sense of privacy.

They sit in a comfortable silence, knees knocked together from their crossed legs. Shiro eats, and Keith sits beside him, and Shiro wishes this were enough. He steels himself for how he is about to ruin this nice moment.

"Why did Haggar send the clone after you to begin with?"  
  
"She's not exactly fond of rebels."

"But she doesn't single them out like that. It isn't Haggar that goes after rebels, it's ordinary galra soldiers. She knew it was _you_."

Keith does not reply.

"Keith. What did you do?"

The way Keith looks at him is resigned, his mouth still tipped into a smile. He knows he's caught,  and so he says, almost like he is telling a joke: "Stabbed Zarkon through the heart."

"How?"

Keith blinks. "With… My knife? I missed at first, but it was fine. Just – readjusted." He makes a crude jerking motion with his wrist, and the harshness of it makes even Shiro wince. Unnecessarily, Keith explains, "Luxite's sharp."

"That's not what I mean. How did you pull it off?"

"Teamwork," Keith answers, sincerely. His head tips back to watch the sky as he leans back further on his palms. "The Blades had a whole plan. Rescued Slav, built a teludav. Their first spy got taken out, but Ulaz was able to take his place with the virus for the ship."

Shiro can't quite piece it all together. He nods anyway. He can't picture the rest of the world around the moment, but he _can_ picture Keith, alone in the stars with nothing but his knife. That pretty black blade buried deep in Zarkon's chest. It's a brutal image, and one he is sure was just the conclusion of what could have easily killed Keith.

Sometimes fighting in the lions is better than fighting hand-to-hand. It means you don't have to see the blood. Shiro looks down to Keith's hand, as if expecting his fingertips to still be dyed – God, what color do the galra bleed? Shiro should know this.

"Everyone expects the famous hero to come in and save the day," Keith's voice says. His fingers flex. "And people are brave, but afraid at the same time. Brave enough to stand up to the galra, maybe, but not enough to try to make a real change. They'll risk their lives to _survive_ , but not to actually kill the enemy."

"You could have _died,_ " Shiro snaps, startled by his own severity. "Your – I don't know about the Blade of Marmora, I don't know what their resources are like, but I'm _sure_ that it was less than Voltron. You should have been with us, you should have all worked with us."

Keith shrugs, and ignores the entire second half of what Shiro said. "It could have been a suicide attack. Still would have been worth it."

Shiro breathes the words, "It wouldn't."

Keith tilts his head to raise an eyebrow at Shiro. "Tell that to everyone in the coalition. You can't prioritize one life."

He says it like a joke that he is telling himself.

Talking to Keith is such a helpless affair, lately. Shiro had earned Keith's respect so long ago, he had grown accustomed to just _having_ it. Keith had pressed the power to guide him, to lead him, gently into Shiro's palms, and never questioned it again, even when those hands were changed.

But Shiro can't get a thing from Keith anymore. Only these stilted answers, lies, and shut-down conversations.

Keith shakes his head. "You're always like this."

"Like what?"

His eyes are piercing, expression unreadably neutral. "Hypocritical." He does not give Shiro time to push this, and says, "You do what you can. That's what I thought when we got separated. You do what you can, because you can't count on anyone else to do it."

"We looked for you," Shiro tries. "Pidge lost so much sleep. She was so tired for so long. Everything we did, everywhere we went. We asked, we looked, we stole tech and security footage and – we _tried_ , Keith."

"I know."

They are both quiet. Shiro takes the moment to eat. It tastes like nothing.

Keith brings a hand to his braid, twirling it around a finger far too casually, "I should apologize for that, really. You came close."

Shiro exhales, wishing it could carry his tension out of his body. But it doesn't. It coils tight and painful inside his body, an all-over ache under his skin. "You hid from us."

A wry grin. "Pidge made it hard. Felt guilty every time."

" _Why_ , Keith?"

"I needed Red, and we needed Zarkon's attention on you guys."

Shiro thinks of the worry in all their eyes, the weariness that had etched deeper and deeper into their bodies each and every time Keith had come up for over a year. He thinks about their exhaustion, trying to win fights, unable to form Voltron. Barely escaping Zarkon again and again, then pouring all their free time into the search.

For the first time, it is not guilt or betrayal that makes his skin prickle. This discomfort is _anger_ , Shiro realizes.

It does Keith no favors when he says, watching Allura and Lotor dispassionately, "The ends justify the means, I guess."

"Leave," Shiro says.

Keith whirls to look at him, his fingers freezing in his hair. His brow is knit, violet eyes frightened.

"Not – just for a minute. Just give me a minute alone, okay?"  
  
"Sure," Keith murmurs, relaxing. Obediently, he rises, dusts himself off, and leaves.

Shiro feels numb as he eats. When he finishes, he knows that he should go back to the others, but can't bring himself to hurry.  


***  


It is evening when Lotor and Allura finally rejoin everyone else. The common room of Lotor's ship is far less welcoming than the castle, Shiro thinks. The deep purples feel ominous. But again, he is a bit biased.

Pidge and Hunk have finished their latest "Rover," this one home-made. It shoots sparks from its mouth and although it's head is demonically misshapen, its body is almost dog-like. It sits, obedient, at Pidge's feet.

"Our son," Hunk coos.  
  
Lance pulls his feet up off the floor and onto the couch, edging away from it. "Your son is a demon."

Matt does not look up from his datapad, for some reason settled with his back against the wall at the edge of the room, next to where Shiro is standing. "Don't say that, you're his godfather."

Allura laughs, and takes a seat beside Lance, allowing him to sidle up to her under the excuse of getting further from Rover.

Lotor watches them all, unmoving from the doorway, and Shiro does not necessarily think it is hesitation on his face.

But Keith must, because he scoots over to leave a bigger open space between himself and Allura. "You can sit with us, you know."

Shiro tells himself that the only reason this sets him on edge is because it is so out of character for Keith. He has been so wary of Lotor from day one, and so it is unnerving to see him offer a smile and a nod to the man.

He watches Lotor sit beside him with an uncomfortable awareness that Lotor is closer to Keith than he is to Allura.

An uncomfortable awareness of the way Lotor curves his body, turns to return Keith's smile and nod, and asks him what he has kept himself busy with today – as if he is the only person in the room. As if the sparking demon-child-puppy-robot was sure to be an uninteresting story.

"Training, mostly," Keith answers. "You've got a nice set-up. Is that normal for ships like this?"

"This was originally a ship used for training galra soldiers. It may not always be comfortable, but it has resources."

"How do you avoid getting targeted by pirates?" Keith asks, and leans closer.

A part of Shiro tells himself he is being ridiculous, but another part says that this is blatant flirting – clumsy, from someone who doesn't know how to do it.

"They don't tend to have the best scanners," Lotor says. "And even those that do aren't anything to be afraid of. I do know how to fight for myself."

"Maybe you could show me some time," Keith says, with a playful smirk.

Maybe Shiro isn't crazy. Allura is leaning past Lance to listen to Pidge boast about her son, but Lance is watching Keith with a blatant confusion written all over his face. He looks from Keith to Lotor to Shiro and back, frowning.  


***  


Keith doesn't come to Shiro's guest room in the night.

But Shiro has seen his desperation and the way it builds and builds through the evenings. There is still residual anger swirling inside him, and he doesn't expect it to go away any time soon. But he can't stop himself from making his way to Keith's room.

A twisted part of him thinks maybe it will help. Stress relief, perhaps. The reassurance that Shiro was reading too much into nothing, the reminder that Keith will use _Shiro_ for what he needs, not anyone else, and certainly not Lotor.

 _They have a lot in common,_ Shiro's mind offers, apparently playing devil's advocate with himself.

Shiro tries to ignore it, aggressively keeping his thoughts railroaded. Maybe it will be a comfort in the way that small fights dissolve when the sex is good enough.

This isn't exactly a small fight.

Keith does not answer when Shiro knocks on his door, but he had expected that. Stubbornly, he waits a moment before knocking again.

Still no answer.

On his fourth knock, next door, Lance pops his head out from his room. "I don't think Keith's in there."

Shiro has to carefully slide on the mask. Shiro, the Leader of Voltron. He doesn't think of this as a lie. It's just a facet of him that he has to lean hard into. He smiles. "No? Do you know where he is?"

"Said he was going for a ride in Red, to relax. Seemed pretty worked up after..." Lance shakes his head.

Shiro waits for him to finish, but when it becomes apparent that he does not want to, says, "Thanks, Lance."

Lance shoots finger guns in his direction. Then asks, "You two havin' a fight again?"

Exhausted, Shiro just lets his shoulders roll. "Something like that."

Lance steps out of his room. He has headphones around his neck; his hair is just the slightest bit mussed, and he is wearing his blue robe and slippers. Shiro wonders if he had woke him from an early sleep. "He'll come down. Always does."

"Yeah," Shiro murmurs. "I know."

"It's like he figured out basic anger management," Lance says, playfully. "Couple years late, but still. Now he knows to go chill out in a corner until he's ready to talk to you. Or – he can chill in the endless void of space. Whatever."

Shiro laughs, appreciative. "You know, sometimes I forget how badly we all wanted to be out here in the first place."

Lance softens. "It's easy to forget. It's hard to be away from home for so long. And it's not like it's a vacation." Before Shiro can answer, Lance shakes his head, as if realigning himself to his self-designated duty of cheering up Shiro. "But I think we're still lucky."

It has been so long, but Shiro still looks to his wrist. A resurgence of a long-dead habit.

How tragic is it that a dying man is leading teenagers in a war? And God, Shiro is hardly more than a teenager himself. He grew up too fast. It's a strange thing to think of himself, but he knows that it's true. When you have limited time, you try to hit all the stages in a hurry. Adolescence hadn't lasted long.

Himself, and the others – they made it to the stars, just to be burdened with keeping them from dying.

Lance crosses his arms, like he knows this line is strange coming from himself, but says, "I still think it's a little messed up, though. How he's acting out on you. The anger management is good and all, but it's still immature to try and make you jealous by flirting with _Lotor_."

"That's not what's happening. We're not a couple," Shiro reminds Lance, because he seems to have forgotten. But he still takes it as sweet, sweet vindication that Lance had seen the same thing as him.

"Right," Lance says, sheepish. He says, "I mean… It would be nice if Lotor was less interested in Allura. And I guess Keith doesn't know better to realize they were clearly almost…"

Lance's expression drops. He bites the inside of his cheek.

"Keith couldn't stand him until the day we got here," Shiro reminds Lance. "Don't read too much into them hitting it off."

Lance raises an eyebrow. "You didn't see them in the training room."

Shiro's mouth feels tight as he frowns.

Without needing to be asked, Lance gestures, scowling. "They were knife-fighting, which is stupid, for one. But it was just – they were so – ugh. I don't know how to explain, it was just _charged_ , you know? They seemed like they wanted to get a lot handiser than a _knife fight_ should be."

"Sword fight," Shiro corrects, to keep himself from saying anything else.

The anger in his gut had gone latent but now it is boiling, and he feels like he is fighting to keep it contained, but forces a smile when Lance laughs self consciously at his own mistake.  


***   


_The ends justify the means,_ Shiro thinks.

These words were his whole way of life from the Garrison. All his hard work that had sped the collapse of his relationships. The way he had been pushing and pushing himself to beat the clock, no matter what else from his life had to fall away.

Escaping the galra was no second chance, but it _was_ an awakening, of sorts. Shiro is still fighting time. The hourglass is still funneling its sands away from him. But he had thought, _I'll balance things better_. Plummeting to Earth with a ship on fire and a fire in his mind, he had thought, _I promise, God, I promise, if you just give me what little time I have left._

It feels like Keith just throws it all in his face with the same words.

Keith throws a lot of things in Shiro's face. Or maybe Shiro is just blaming Keith for something he has no business projecting his own feelings onto. _Compartmentalize_ , Shiro tells himself. He is the back-up to Keith's Shiro, that much has been made clear from the start.

But then what, Shiro wants to know, does Keith think he is doing with Lotor?

He must knows that what he's doing is wrong, because after that first flirtation, he treats Lotor like he would any of the others, when they are in a group. It strikes Shiro as shame – something he is keeping from Allura's eyes.

Against all of Shiro's expectations, it is Lotor who lacks the tact and awareness. It is Lotor who's eyes track Keith whenever he is in the room. It is Lotor who seems distracted, flustered, at any proximity to Keith.

Lotor speaks to Allura with a formality fit for a princess, and the respectful adoration they are used to.

He speaks to Keith like – God, Shiro doesn't even know. Like he is a girl at a party that Lotor is trying to pick up. Lotor's personality does not change, but there is this odd sense of feigned interest in anything Keith says, this almost desperation, and Shiro hates it.

He hates that he sees them walking a hall together, Lotor's hand slipping to the small of Keith's back.

He sees one of their sparring matches, and he hates that, too. They both fight with everything they have, skin flushed. Keith twists his wrist just so and snaps his arm out, knocking Lotor's sword from his hand. He follows up too quickly for Lotor to react, shoving Lotor hard against the wall with a palm to his chest and his black sword glinting at his throat. Lotor's adam's apple bobs as he swallows thickly, both their breathing heavy. His eyes flick from Keith's eyes to his mouth, quirked up with a smirk.

"Pretty messed up," Pidge says, apparently right beside Shiro. He feels his soul jump out of his skin, but manages to contain himself. He looks down; she meets his gaze and adjusts her glasses. "But I guess if that's what they're into."

"What do you mean?" Shiro asks, playing dumb.

Pidge does not seem even remotely fooled, but she turns her attention back to the window into the training room. Lotor and Keith have moved back to the middle of the room, both with their swords back in hand, resetting, restarting.

"I don't think he even notices," Pidge says. "Lotor, I mean. I think there's just something in his brain that turns off around Keith. Or turns on. Whichever."

 _Relatable,_ Shiro wants to say.

"I'd ask him for more information on the interaction of galra heat cycles and stuff," she continues, loftily, "But I don't necessarily want to alert him to it."

Shiro winces. "So you noticed."

"I'll admit, it was a delayed realization. But the pieces were all there. The flowers, the bath, then him telling us about his mom. Added up eventually."

They watch the two men sparring, watch the way their chests heave with exertion. Lotor slices through the air with his blade; it could have cut into Keith's side if he hadn't stopped himself short.

"I don't think Keith can help it, either," Pidge says. "Well, I'm not certain on that. But I don't think either of them want to do this to Allura."

"They aren't – I know what you're saying. But they aren't doing anything."

"Not yet," Pidge says.

It is jarring to look down at her, still such a young girl, always wrapped up in her wires and numbers. Her expression is flat, like she is exhausted, and she shouldn't have to be anymore. Not after how long and hard she had searched.

She dissects their relationships like they are cadavers. Corpses on a table, nothing but pieces that work and don't work together.

"Then you think it's just, what, a chemical inevitability?"

Pidge shrugs. "I don't know. I'd like to think that chemical inevitabilities can still be overcome."

Shiro is not sure they are talking about the same thing. Not when Pidge looks up at him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Shiro's mind races to think of what he could have done to offend her, what part of this she could be upset at _him_ about.

Maybe Matt told her something, what precious little he knows.

Her scowl fades. Pidge lets out a long sigh, and without warning, wraps her arms around Shiro in a light embrace.

Unsure of what to do, Shiro pats her back. "Pidge?"

She shakes her head against his stomach. "Nothing. Just feeling a little clingy today, I guess. The loss of my current one and only child is taking its toll on me."

"What happened to Rover?"

Pidge draws back, and with utmost seriousness admits, "We were using him to light firecrackers, you know, for our own safety, since Matt was watching."

Shiro could have done without knowing that they are only concerned with fire safety when they have a chaperone, but snorts a laugh anyway.

Pidge grins, relief settling into her shoulders. She skirts away from him, swinging her arms behind her back as if hiding a secret there.

"I think we can save him," she says.  


***  


It isn't about the sex. It isn't. It's about the layers of Keith that keep startling Shiro when they fall away – only to reveal new ones, every time. It's endless. Like Keith is building a brick wall up at the same pace as Shiro is taking it down. He had thought they were doing better than this.

Keith has been avoiding him since their argument, but three days is enough time for Shiro to learn his new pattern.

Keith is not going to Lotor for help with his heat, despite whatever comes over them when they are near each other. In the evenings, when Shiro knows it gets bad, Keith takes Red out for a ride. Shiro is sure that he is not alone, wherever he gets to.

He catches Keith in the hangar – literally catches him by the wrist, because Keith does not stop when Shiro calls his name, and tries to brush past him into the red lion.

Shiro is almost distracted by how easily his thumb and index finger circle Keith's small wrist. "What are you doing?"

"Going out," Keith snaps, but does not try to pull away.

"Explain something to me, first," Shiro commands. "What are you trying to do with Lotor?"

Keith scowls at this, spoiling any chance he had at feigning innocence.

Shiro cannot bring himself to ask if Keith is really trying to make him jealous. The conclusion seems so natural in his mind, but out loud he knows sounds crazy.

Especially when it isn't even him that Keith wants.

"Take me with you," Shiro says, instead.

Keith looks more startled by his words than being grabbed. His cheeks are already tinged pink, and he shoots a glance to the red lion, waiting in the hangar. "What? Why?"

"I want to meet him. I should have that right."

"Why?" Keith repeats, suspicious.

Simple curiosity at the shallowest level. Deeper than that, it is _himself_. A clone, a weapon made from him, made out of him. A version of himself with different time. The version of him that Keith is in love with.

For some reason, this is the only one that makes it out. "Because you still haven't explained why you're in love with a clone of me, but not _me_."

Keith startles, his eyes blowing wide. "What," he starts, then pivots. "Shiro, that's not… You don't even."

He sounds so sure of the incomplete thought. Shiro loosens his grip on Keith's wrist, but refuses to let go, as if he might vanish all over again. As if he might climb into the red lion and never come back.

Who knows? Without knowing his mission, but knowing what little he _has_ told Shiro, that could be on the horizon.

"I've been in love with you since I was like fifteen," Keith manages, confused. "But you – Shiro, he said… It was new."

"It is," Shiro murmurs. "More recent than that, anyway."

"I just assumed you didn't. We haven't been through the same stuff, we don't – I haven't saved you."

Shiro hears an unspoken _yet,_ and doesn't understand why. He asks, "You really don't see him as being any different from me, do you?"

Keith is resolute in his answer, shaking his head. "He's a different you. That's all. It doesn't matter how he was made, or by who. He has memories. He has feelings. He's just as real. He's – I don't think of him like _Shiro's clone_. He's just… He's Shiro, too."

"Then _why_ did you think he and I would feel differently about you?"

Keith blinks owlishly, like this had never occurred to him. His face flushes bright, and Shiro thinks that it's equal parts the revelation and the embarrassment at not having realized. "I, uh. I don't. Know?"

Shiro laughs, self depreciating, and hopes this will put Keith even somewhat at ease. "Do you know how weird it feels to be jealous of yourself?"  
  
It works; Keith softens. Perhaps less at the joke and more at the simple acknowledgment of the other Shiro as just that: Another Shiro. "That's – not something I know how to… What to do about. Right now. I don't have time to figure this out."

He doesn't sound distressed, only distracted. He's losing his words and shifting his weight. Shiro can feel the heat on his skin beneath his palm.

"Okay," Shiro agrees, letting go of him. "That's fair."

"Is it?" Keith asks, dryly.

Shiro only shrugs.

"Well," Keith says, at length, already turning away. Shiro can still see the blush at the tips of his ears. "You can come. Don't blame me if it's weird."  


***  


It is weird. It is _absurdly_ weird.

First there is Keith, short of breath behind the controls, shooting Shiro furtive glances over his shoulder. His lip between his teeth. Squirming in his seat.

Then when Red is drifting at a distance from the castle, there is the wolf. At least, the closest thing Shiro knows to compare it to is a wolf. It is too many shades of blue and silver to be like any wolf he knows, and that's not to mention the fact that it shimmers into existence out of thin air.

It isn't alone.

Looking at the other Shiro feels off.

It isn't like staring into a mirror, because he _isn't_ mirrored. He isn't flipped, the way Shiro is used to seeing his own reflection. His hair is cut nearly the same. His face, his eyes, his scar – a perfect copy.

The only things different are his prosthetic arm, still metal, but not galra, and his clothes. They look like the black clothes that Keith had arrived in. Violet highlights on black, and a hood that he's kept down.

The other Shiro startles, badly. " _Oh,_ " he blurts out. "Uh, okay."

Keith crashes into him, arms thrown around his sides, and the other Shiro returns the embrace like instinct.

Keith says, muffled by Shiro's chest, "He wanted to meet you. Didn't seem fair to say no."

"It was bound to happen eventually, I guess."

"Er," Shiro manages, watching the two of them from a respectful distance. "Hi there. Shiro."

"That's gonna get confusing fast," the other Shiro muses. He has recovered much faster than Shiro, but that isn't a surprise. He's known about being a clone for longer than Shiro has known he was cloned at all.

Shiro still remembers the words he'd overheard. _It can't really be cheating if it's still me, right? If anything, he's more me than me._

He wonders if that's why the jealous flames inside him hadn't twisted into something ugly for this like they had for Lotor. It had always been something almost pretty. It's supposed to be something sharp and painful, and it is, and it hurts, but – so does Keith.

"Shiro one and Shiro two," Keith drifts, his voice flat enough that Shiro almost misses that he's joking.

"Hm. I don't want to be Shiro two," the other Shiro says with ease.

"Shiro A and Shiro one," Keith offers, instead.

"No."

Keith shrugs, and then, shameless, pushes onto his toes, kissing the other Shiro's neck. He presses his face against him like just the warmth of skin against his cheek is soothing.

The other Shiro seems to just be humoring him, keeping him at bay with arms wrapped around his back and his head tilted at an angle to give Keith better access. But he does not return the physical affection any more than that just yet.

It should hurt worse than this, Shiro thinks. Watching Keith hold a knife to Lotor's throat had set a fire in his body and charred his heart until it felt like it would crumble – but somehow this, watching Keith drape all over another man, is different.

Another man. Maybe, maybe not.

"You can call me Kuro, if that's easier," the other Shiro says.

Shiro arches an eyebrow. "That's a little on the nose, don't you think?"

"It's clever, really," he says, grinning. "I was project Kuron. Good old galra word-play."

"Shut up," Keith complains, with no malice to it. He draws back from Kuro, enough to try to push him back towards the cargo hold door.

Kuro concedes only one step back, giving Shiro a curious look before turning his attention to Keith. "Wait, if… If you were willing to bring him here, why did you come at all? Why not just…?"  
  
Huffing, Keith slaps his hands to hold Kuro's cheeks. "Don't be stupid. You're different Shiros. Still Shiro, but different." Shiro feels like he is intruding, neither of them paying him any mind as Keith says, vehemently, _lovingly_ , "You're mine."

Recognizing what he is feeling on his own face is strange. Like all things to do with Kuro, it is surreal, as if the whole world has tilted a degree around him, suddenly just slightly askew.

He's never seen his own face in the moments when his heart is pounding, when it's melting, when it's shattering, crackling, sparking.

"You saved me," Kuro murmurs back, leaning down to kiss Keith gently.

"I saved you," Keith repeats, like the words are his salvation in a cursed world.

When Shiro clears his throat, Kuro muffles his own laughter in Keith's neck. Then opens the door to the cargo hold, guiding Keith in with a hand at his hip.

"Sit tight," Kuro says, looking smug. It would be infuriating if it weren't _himself_ , Shiro thinks.

"Yeah, yeah," Shiro mutters. It is hard to be annoyed with himself. With a version of himself that has allowed Shiro to fuck his boyfriend this many times already in such a good humor.

A version of himself that offers, over his shoulder, "Unless you'd like to watch?"

The shiver that runs up Shiro's spine is violent, and he tries to suppress it from showing. He can see from Keith's curious gaze that he's failed.

His face burning, Shiro shakes his head and says, "No thanks."

When the door has closed behind them, he is left alone with the wolf. He sits down in the pilot seat and tries not to hear the muffled sounds. Quiet gasps and grunts, and murmurs that he doesn't want to strain himself trying to understand.

The wolf sets its head on Shiro's knee, accepting head-scratches until the sounds finally quiet.

  
***  


Some nights, Keith stumbles into Shiro's room, already peeling off his shirt. Other times he finds Shiro in the hall and says, "I'm going out, in a bit."

Later, he will not question it when Shiro finds him in the hangar.

Later, Kuro will not question it when Shiro is in the cockpit of the red lion, waiting for them to finish like an awkward third wheel.

They don't really have to talk, after all. Shiro can't claim to know exactly what is running through Kuro's head at any given moment, but he understands himself well enough to understand – enough. He assumes they feel the same way about most things, and it's this assumption that makes it impossible to hate him, impossible to be completely, _angrily_ jealous of him.

Maybe it's Kuro's misguided compassion for Shiro that makes him ask, each time, with a teasing – knowing – smile, "Want to watch?"

He knows the answer already, even when Shiro denies it for as long as he can.

Each muffled whimper from Keith's lips chips at his self control, and this is how Shiro ends up sitting in the cargo hold with them, his back pressed up against the door to the cockpit.

The air is hot. Sticky and thin.

Keith holds himself up over Kuro's lap, his fingers gripped tight around Kuro's shoulders for balance as Kuro reaches between his legs, slowly working him open. It's easy, Shiro knows from experience. Whether that's from consistent sex or just from being in heat, he can't say.

Shiro swallows thickly, watching Kuro's fingers slide in and out of Keith. Watching the way they disappear, watching the satisfied way that Keith grinds down against his hand each time they are inside him, silently demanding more.

"Come on, baby," Kuro murmurs, "Open up for me."

It doesn't quite strike Shiro as dirty talk. Not when Keith lets out an almost frustrated huff and bites Kuro's neck like he's taking revenge.

Kuro laughs it off. He lets Keith fuck his fingers for a moment, in apology. Whatever he murmurs into Keith's ear is too quiet for Shiro to hear, but makes Keith's whole body shudder. He nearly slumps over Kuro, losing his grip on him for a second before catching himself with a gasp.

When Kuro scissors his fingers, stretching Keith open and on display, he is watching Shiro over Keith's shoulder. It is not a predatory look. There is a heat to it, but more than that, a pure curiosity. He watches Shiro closely as he changes the speed of his hand, like he is checking for his reaction to each angle, to each of Keith's low whines.

Shiro almost expects Kuro to offer Keith to him. With the way his free hand comes to squeeze Keith's ass cheek, spreading it, putting his hole on display as it stretches for his fingers. With the knowing look in his eyes. The full understanding of just how much they both want Keith.

Shiro can't keep meeting his gaze. He has to refocus on the sharp angles of Keith's back, muscles rippling beneath his skin with every desperate push back down. The sweat the makes the mussed strands of his long hair stick to his skin. His red ears, neck, shoulders.

"You like showing off, baby?" Kuro asks, and _this_ , Shiro thinks, is not targeted at him.

Keith mutters, as if annoyed by the question, "Only for you."

Keith has to lift higher off of Kuro's lap for the older man to undo his pants and free his own cock. It's strange for Shiro to see himself like this; his own face so flushed, his own cock from this angle.

Half of him feels it in his core, and the other half of him cannot wrap his head around it at all.

He watches Keith drop down carefully onto Kuro's – his – cock. Watches muscular thighs tense, watches big arms wrap around Keith's back to hold him tight. He feels as if he can't blink and risk missing a moment.

The two of them rock against each other, rhythmic and easy. Shiro's erection strains painfully against his pants, watching them, hearing them. It's torture to be so far away, to have to look but not touch.

"Go ahead."

Kuro's words startle Shiro out of his hypnotized reverie. He is suddenly aware of his own labored breathing. Then of Kuro's eyes on him, and the way his hands are guiding Keith. A soft touch to his chest, guiding him to arch his spine. A hand on his ass, groping and spreading, showing him off.

"Go ahead," he repeats.

This is fucked, Shiro thinks, helplessly, but he still undoes his pants. He still wraps his hand around his cock, and doesn't even have to daydream. Not with what's in front of him. Not with Kuro going obediently still at Keith's silent command, conveyed through his grip alone.

Shiro matches pace, jerking himself off slowly, squeezing in time with the rolls of Keith's hips.

Kuro whispers into Keith's ears, words that aren't for Shiro, words that make Keith tremble, words that make his pace falter. Until finally he is grunting one last time, sunk down on Kuro's cock. His hands stilled around his own length, dripping over with his come.

Kuro kisses him hungrily, and they are practiced enough with this, already in their own habits and understandings, that he does not need to ask before he begins fucking into him again. This time Keith really does slump over him, whimpering and shivering, biting back moans, over-sensitive from his own orgasm.

It does not take long for Kuro to come. It takes only a moment longer for Shiro to follow.

The panting of three people fills the room, but not for long. It is only minutes before Keith is snoring, still draped over Kuro.

The way Kuro pets his back strikes Shiro as distinctly cat-like. He tries to offer Shiro an amused look, but with both of them still in various states of undress and needing to clean up, it doesn't last long.

The fact that there is a makeshift bed already prepared in the red lion is depressing. The fact that there was a need for it. The fact that it was not packed up and put away after Keith came back to the castle. But it also occurs to Shiro that there is some irony in it being here, unused, as Kuro and Keith had fucked on the floor. Gallows humor, he supposes.

Kuro tucks Keith in and brushes his hair from his face. Keith, of course, is awake from the process of being lifted, carried, and set back down. He is exhausted enough that all he does is frown and swat at Kuro's hand.

Shiro and Kuro tidy themselves in quiet.

Shiro waits until Keith's breathing has evened again. Until the lines of his face have gone loose and relaxed. It's doubtful that he is really asleep, but Shiro is willing to bet he will keep quiet. At the very least, it's an illusion of privacy.

"What's your mission?" Shiro asks, quiet.

Kuro's expression is unreadable. Maybe it's sympathy. Shiro can't read his own face, and it makes him wonder if he has been emoting correctly his whole life.

Kuro says, "It's not up to me to tell you."

"Is it the right thing to do?"  
  
Kuro does not hesitate for a second: "Yes."

Keith stays quiet. The three of them rest in silence, Kuro petting Keith's hair and Shiro ruminating on how different the two of them could _possibly_ be.  


***  


"It's not–" Keith begins, in the quiet of the red lion as they fly back to the castle, an hour later. He doesn't seem to know how to finish the sentence, and Shiro lets him fall back into silence without pressing it. Eventually he tries again. "I hate Lotor."

"You could have fooled me," Shiro murmurs, trying not to sound bitter, and realizing how absolutely fucking ridiculous he is to be so petty and jealous over _that_ after watching Keith fuck someone else right in front of him.

 _Someone else?_ His mind still echoes, pointedly.

Keith bites his lip. "None of you know anything about him."

"Then tell us about him," Shiro coaxes. "You can't get upset that people don't know something _and_ refuse to tell them."

"We'll get there," Keith says, but he frowns and his grip on the controls goes tight. "And you've got no right to lecture me about hiding information."

"No? I barely know anything. You have a mission you won't explain to me, and even though that's all I know, it's still more than anyone else on the team."

Keith's snaps his head to look up at Shiro, mouth open as if he's about to argue. Instead he just glares, then sets his attention back on the screen in front of him. "And how many people on _the team_ know that you're sick?"

Shiro sighs. "Keith, why are you bringing this up, now? What does this have to do with–"

"–I'm just saying, why do you expect me to be upfront about anything when you aren't?"  
  
"It's no one else's business!"

He hadn't meant to say that quite so loudly. It gets Keith to hesitate, but there isn't any satisfaction in it.

The silence goes on too long. Keith doesn't have an argument for that, and Shiro does not know how to move past it. He still tries, shifting the subject, "Is he sick?"

"No," Keith says.

Shiro is not sure what to call the emotion that hits him. Despair or relief. One of those. Could go either way. He kind of wants to laugh.

And a part of him wonders if that's why Keith chose him – the one who would survive.  


***  


Lotor and Allura finish their ship, and schedule their venture into the quintessence field for morning.

Allura calls Shiro into the command room for a private meeting – just the two of them, Coran, and Matt. Shiro knows without being told that his time keeping Keith's secrets is up.

It does not feel like ice water, or adrenaline, or even panic. Just a tight coil in his stomach, tense and hard. His lungs feel hollow when he breathes, like they are taking in nothing, pushing out nothing.

It's a good sign that they're willing to hear him out, at least. And without the younger paladins present.

Then again, Shiro doubts anything Matt knows hasn't already extended to Pidge. Anything Shiro says today will surely be the same. Matt can keep a secret, sure. When he's on your side. But Shiro isn't naïve enough to think that Matt would ever take his side – Keith's side – over Pidge's.

Plus, well, there's a big difference between keeping your mouth shut about an inappropriate crush on a protégé versus a potential spy among your ranks in a _war._

At least he has the decency to give Shiro a regretful sort of smile.

"Keith is one of us," Allura opens with. Whether it is an example of exactly why Shiro cares for her so dearly or an example of exactly how well she knows how to play him, Shiro isn't sure. She hesitates before continuing. "But I don't think we can allow these secrets to continue. I understand that – whatever it is may be delicate, in nature…"

She remembers the way Keith had nodded to Shiro, making him the scapegoat for his secrets. She still believes this, even if it is no longer enough.

"… But it's obvious that there is something going on that we aren't aware of, and I won't allow any harm to come to our team. To Voltron. Pidge caught traced outgoing transmissions from the castle beginning when we found Keith, and has not been able to intercept them. But they have been regular – scheduled."

His mind feels like it's moving slow, trying to formulate a plan. The most tactful way of explaining what he knows. Maybe it's manipulative to want to minimize all of it.

"We know that Keith is in contact with… A clone of you, created by the galra." Allura says, with a nod to Matt, clearly her informant. She sounds like she is still processing it. "What other secrets have the two of you been keeping?"

Shiro isn't sure how she can say that without it sounding like an accusation. The diplomacy of a princess, he supposes. He does not want to think about how well she hides her frustration, because he knows it will only make him aware of how well she can hide her hurt.

"He already told everyone about his past," Shiro says. "He didn't have to do that, but he did."

"Giving us one truth doesn't excuse hiding others," Coran interjects. Even he just seems more at a loss than angry.

There is something about the way that Matt shifts his weight, then, that catches Shiro's eye. The way he looks away like he cannot look at Shiro. It's enough to make Shiro wince.

Keith is acting with a mission in-mind. There is something he is dead-set on, and for the first time, Shiro wonders – _then what?_

This is a goal that Keith had intended to accomplish without them ever seeing him. With the Blade of Marmora, who he is still in communication with. Still taking orders from.  
 

But – then what?

He finds himself saying, "I'll tell you what I know."

There is a relief on all their faces, and he feels it in his own chest. He doesn't like to keep secrets, and there has always been the weight of one more. But that secret can wait. His time is not really up, not yet. None of them need to know until it really is, and it is only a guilty conscience from Keith's words that has him even thinking of it.

"We want to trust Keith," Allura says. "We want to help him."

"I'm just as guilty," Shiro admits. "For not telling you what I know sooner. It's not much, but I wanted – I want to trust Keith. And the clone – Kuro."

Matt snorts at the name. Then, strangely, he says, "I think that if Keith trusts them, and if they trust Keith, then those are both good signs. But I _do_ still think we need more information. I wish there was a way we could convince him to just let us help."

"Shiro would have the best luck getting him to tell us," Coran says. "And that's clearly not gone well."

Shiro doesn't have the energy to be indignant. He's right, after all.

"Here's what I think," Matt says, and takes a deep breath. "It's a clone of Shiro, right? One that Keith implicitly trusts and believes is equal in humanity and identity as the real Shiro. I think that's also kind of another point in his favor. If that Shiro, who – uh, unlike ours – actually knows the first thing about the Blade of Marmora… If he trusts them, and works with them willingly, then…"

Shiro's mind is reeling.

Matt had been the suspicious one. But now it's almost as if he's trying to steer Allura and Coran away from this. Hadn't he been the one to pique their suspicion to begin with, by telling them what he knew?

"You talked to Keith," Shiro realizes.

Matt concedes a shrug of admittance. "It's not like I got a lot out of him, but that's how it should work, right? I have questions, I should ask them from the source. That's how trusting him works."

Allura reminds them, "But he didn't explain what his mission is, or why we can't work in tandem with his people."

"We're just talking in circles," Shiro says. He shakes his head. "We aren't going to deduce anything from what he's given us, because he's smarter than that. He hasn't given us enough to play detective. So it's a matter of deciding what to do."

Allura prompts him, softly, "What do you think we should do?"

Shiro sighs, long and slow. "You're in charge, princess. This isn't just about Voltron, this is your coalition. And I don't think I make the best unbiased judge when it comes to Keith."

Maybe that was saying too much. Allura steps closer to him, her fingers brushing his arm gently. "I trust Keith, but this does not mean he is infallible. If it was nothing we needed to worry about, he would have told us more.  
  
_The ends justify the means,_ Shiro thinks. He wonders what the ends are.

"Then what is there to _do_ about it?" Matt asks, almost impatient. "Lock him up and interrogate him? Hook his mind up to the castle crystal and pull the information out? He's one of us."

"You were the one who wanted to spy on him," Shiro murmurs.

He doesn't like the way Matt goes silent. At least he doesn't look away, this time. Just watches Shiro, like he is a time-bomb about to go off. But that shouldn't be news to Matt.

"Just – can't we give him more time?" Matt asks, clearly speaking to Allura and Coran, but with his eyes still tracking Shiro.

"We can't wait until it's too late," Allura says, but this is her way of conceding. Shiro would think it too soft of her as the face of the coalition, if it weren't Keith in question. If it were anyone else, she would not back off. If it were anyone else, he would not want her to.

Shiro cannot wipe the expression on her face from his mind. The disappointment in her eyes lingers, his own guilty conscience manifest.

Matt follows him into the halls, easily falling into step with him.

"What did he tell you that's got you on his side?" Shiro asks. "Because it sounds like you know more than I do."

And that – stings. He knows that things are strange with himself and Keith, he knows that Keith is not _his,_ the same way he is the other Shiro's, but it's still painful to think of him confiding in Matt instead.

"Trust me," Matt says.

Shiro is getting very, very tired of these words.  


***  


Keith's heat comes to a peak that night.

Shiro is glad, in a way. It means that Keith will be completely in his right mind from now on. No longer counting down the minutes until evening, when his body betrays him and his mind goes fuzzy and desperate. It will be easier for him to truly act in accordance with his own feelings.

He is less glad for how much harder it hits Keith than it had before.

Keith is not just flushed and distracted, not just sensitive to the touch. He is shivering, feverish, sweating. He looks ill, his eyes unfocused and his hair stuck to his neck with sweat.

Shiro almost expects Keith to collapse against his chest when he answers his bedroom door. Instead, Keith reaches out and grips Shiro's arms, fingers curling tight to keep his balance. Like he is holding him at a distance.

The way he says, "Help me," is a command, not a plea.

"Okay," Shiro says. Then, "How?"

"Help me to the hangar." Shiro blinks, and Keith snaps, "Tunnel vision."  
 

It feels like supporting an injured man. Keith's steps are fumbling and his body heaves with every breath. It's _scary,_ Shiro realizes. He wants to help so desperately, and feels helpless to actually do so. He is so out of his element that he doesn't know how much of this is normal – worse, he can tell Keith doesn't know, either.

He is careful to take the path to the hangar that shouldn't run them into anyone else.

"Do you think you can send a message to Allura?" Shiro asks, letting Keith step towards the red lion. "Let her know you're just out on a leisure drive? I can stay behind to tell her, if not." God, he doesn't want to leave Keith like this. Doesn't want to entrust him to someone else, whether it's himself or not.

But as Keith steps away from him, his hand is still holding Shiro's. He holds his arm out behind him, keeping his fingers touched to Shiro's, as if confused that Shiro isn't coming along already.

"Matt will explain," Keith says. He takes a step closer, laces his fingers with Shiro, and tugs him inside.

"Matt knows?" Shiro asks, following, but it goes unanswered.

***

Shiro rubs the back of Keith's neck between his thumb and forefinger as he drives. He isn't sure if it helps or not, but Keith leans back into the touch with an appreciative sound, and that's good enough for Shiro.

"Do you think this'll be the end of it?" He asks, more to distract Keith than a real question.

"God, I hope so," Keith murmurs, tilting his head, angling the press of Shiro's hand. "Harder?"

Shiro obeys after a beat of hesitation. He feels like he is kneading Keith far too hard for it to be enjoyable, but Keith lets out a soft moan. It doesn't _really_ surprise him that Keith likes it rough, anyway.

He shakes his head. Mind out of the gutter. At best, he's only a witness, here.

When they get a fair distance from the castle, Red slows to an auto-pilot drift.

The wolf shimmers into the cockpit with Kuro, and Keith is already out of his seat.

He draws away from Shiro with a heartbreaking ease, crossing the room to give the wolf a brief, but grateful scratch behind his ears before throwing his arms over Kuro's shoulders.

"I hate this," Keith groans, apparently in his right mind enough to complain.

Kuro presses an apologetic kiss into his hair. "I know, baby."

Keith frowns, drawing back from him. "I don't – I mean, I don't hate–"

"–I know," Kuro assures him.

Keith huffs, but seems satisfied with this. He gives a cursory glance to Shiro over his shoulder, chews his lip for a moment, then decides against – whatever he had been thinking. He drags Kuro into the cargo hold.

This time, Kuro does not ask Shiro to follow, and so, he does not.  


***  


It's excruciating, this time.

They are no louder than usual. Shiro only hears an occasional gasp or grunt through the walls, or a murmur so muffled that he cannot make out the words. But the sounds of sex are as unmistakable as ever.

And sure, Shiro had grown somewhat accustomed to suffering through his boners for thirty minutes or so at a time, but  – thirty minutes comes and goes.

Then another.

The sounds are quieter now; Shiro wonders if maybe they both fell asleep. If Keith was at the peak of his heat, it would only make sense if they've worn themselves out.

He tries asking the wolf, "Should I check on them?"

The wolf just stares at him, unwilling to be the scapegoat for his decision.

Shiro gives it another couple minutes before succumbing to his curiosity.

When the door to the cargo hold slides open, the hot air from inside hits Shiro like a wave. The smell of sweat and sex is overwhelming; something musty and salty.

He steps inside and closes the door behind him, taking a moment just to observe.

They definitely aren't sleeping.

Keith's face is flushed in bright, fever-red. His eyelids are heavy, and he looks up at Shiro, startled. His wide eyes are glossy and wet. He is not crying, but there are tears on his cheek, and Shiro thinks he sees the shimmer of drool on his chin. He looks wrecked, shivering on Kuro's lap, arms wrapped around the man's back, holding tight.

Shiro can see the flex of Kuro's back muscles, the movement of his shoulder-blades and hips. He is tensing, his movements tiny and minute, punctuated with his own quiet grunts. His broad shoulders block Keith's body from Shiro's view, but he can see _enough_.

The slow roll of Keith's hips travels up through his whole body as he clings to Kuro, looking away from Shiro to bury his face into the crook of Kuro's neck. Those tiny flexes Kuro's back muscles carve out each shallow thrusts into Keith, and he whimpers.

He rides into it, eyes shut, murmuring on repeat with a cracked voice, "Shiro, Shiro, Shiro." If it is any kind of question, there is no break for Kuro to respond, and Shiro can see the minute tremble of his shoulders.

Keith is over-stimulated, overwhelmed. A shuddering and whimpering mess, repeating Shiro's name again and again, as if Kuro is his whole world, as if he has already forgotten that the real Shiro has stepped into the room. It makes Shiro's gut clench in something uncomfortable, something jealous and dirty that he hates in himself.

But Keith looks fucking gorgeous like this. His cheeks and ears glow so vividly, his mussed-up hair clinging to his face with sweat. His eyes are hazy as he blinks slowly at Kuro's shoulder. Then his gaze drifts back up to where Shiro is standing, frozen and awkward in the doorway.

Their eyes meet, and then Keith's eyes flutter shut again. He's a mess, but something in that is gorgeous. All sweaty and ruined, but exhaling between his mantra as if there is nothing more satisfying than having Kuro's cock buried deep inside him.

Keith's hand, clutching at Kuro's shoulder at first, lets go. He reaches out to Shiro, arm faltering in time with a thrust that Shiro can see from watching Kuro was harsher than the rest. Keith chokes, star-struck silent for a moment, and then what leaves his gently parted lips is, “Shiro—please?”

It takes him a moment to register that Keith is actually talking to him, but even then he doesn't have the words, and just finds himself blinking, still enraptured.

Keith's hand reaches out to him again, aimless though it may be, and his face buries into the crook of Kuro's shoulder. It's only when Shiro looks closely at this that he sees the small movements of Kuro's jaw. He hadn't heard him over Keith's persistent moaning, and still can't hear him over Keith's labored breathing, or even his _own_. But Kuro is talking to Keith. Whatever he is saying has Keith completely red, his fingers weakly grasping air in Shiro's general direction.

Shiro isn't sure what to do, but he steps closer, dropping to his knees and taking Keith's hand. He laces their fingers together, squeezing tight. It would have been nice if Keith had been relieved at this, but it's almost nicer that his eyes screw shut, that he buries his face back into Kuro's neck almost shyly this time,. His wordless keening is punctuated by his own fingers squeezing Shiro's.

Shiro is too close to Kuro, weirdly close. It is surreal, again and again, to see his own body. His own scars and shapes and imperfections, for once not reflected by a mirror.

He is close enough to hear him now. Whispering with Shiro's voice into Keith's ear, his voice coarse and low, “Good boy. That's it, that's it.”

Shiro shivers. His mind is racing; he knows that Keith isn't in his right mind right now, and surely Kuro is just as frazzled with this, with trying to fix it, trying to help. If anyone is the intruder here, it's him, and so he wishes he weren't as jealous as he is. But it's hard, because he can see the tremble of Keith's legs around either side of Kuro, and _he_ wants that. _He_ wants to fuck Keith so good that he can't even reciprocate the movements anymore, until he can only shiver and whimper.  
  
The thought has him feeling depraved, and that's saying something in the face of everything he's already done to Keith and how he's felt about it.

“You're doing so good, Keith,” Kuro is telling him, continuing despite the gasps and moans of Keith's that interrupt him, despite that Keith's movements have all but stilled, now just weakly accepting what Kuro gives him, bouncing with the guidance of Kuro's hands around his waist. It's so easy to hold him, to move him. “So good. That's it – good boy. Take it all, that's right, just like that.”  
  
There's a strange stew of thoughts in Shiro's head. About how sex is usually peppered with dirty-talk, not narrated with a damn monologue. About how maybe he has no right to talk, with how helplessly he always babbles for Keith. Then a reminder to himself that – of course he has no room to talk. They're the same.

The only thing that Kuro has on Shiro is more experience with Keith.

Keith is murmuring again, something quiet and incoherent, muffled by Kuro's collar bone. Kuro's quiet praise doesn't cease, save for tiny, bitten back sounds and stuttered breaths. They suit each other. They both talk too fucking much and only at the wrong times.

Every observation Shiro makes between them comes with a mirror. He almost wishes he weren't here.

But Keith squeezes Shiro's hand in time with the ocean-wave roll of Kuro's hips, and he curves his spine so pretty that the image is burned into Shiro's mind. He watches the increasingly erratic movement of both their bodies. Keith's hand grips his tight, unrelenting now, and Shiro can see it in every inch of his body that he is on the edge of coming, muted and overwhelmed with need, tears in his eyes.

All of this hurts Shiro. He can feel the ache in his chest and knows it is a memory as good as torture, but a moment he would do anything to keep himself here for.

Kuro drives his cock into Keith, hard and deep, his arms wrapping tight around him, pulling him down to meet his thrusts. He still murmurs, soothingly, “That's it, baby. Good, I've got you, you can come again.” His lips are pressed into Keith's hair, and even beyond Shiro's jealousy, it's sweet. Endearing. Until he whispers, “That's right, baby. Come on daddy's cock.”

Shiro's eyes blow wide, watching the lightning-strike reaction in Keith's body, the visible shudder that travels through him as he comes – eyes clenched shut and his fingers in an iron-grip around Shiro's. Shiro's brain screams at him, because you can't just _say_ that.

But Keith _sobs_ as he comes, choking silent.

Kuro is quiet, stilled now, just holding Keith in his arms like dead-weight. Shiro figures any boundaries between himself and Kuro all are completely fucked anyway, if they were really ever going to have them begin with, so he doesn't stop himself from leaning closer, peering down at Keith's come splashed up Kuro's chest.

It's vaguely fascinating to feel Kuro tense for a moment, and to see that flinch travel through to Keith next.

“Was that...?” Shiro starts to ask, but trails off, unsure of what he really wanted to say. Is that enough? Is Keith – better, now? Is it out of his system?

Keith's voice cracks and comes out rough, gravelly and almost unrecognizable. “'S not enough. Shiro, move? Please?”

Kuro hesitates. He hasn't come yet, but Shiro understands the concern. Keith looks exhausted.

Even so, Keith rolls his hips, pleading with his body and murmuring again, breathlessly, “Please, please?”

They're both on the same wavelength, Shiro knows. Both completely captivated by Keith's weak movements. Granted, Shiro figures it's a hell of a lot better to be the one actually getting fucked, but visually? Nothing is hotter than the way Keith bites his lip, rocking weakly on Kuro's cock with his toes curled.

Kuro can't hold out for long against that movement before his fingers grip tight at Keith's hips, pulling him down and guiding his movements. Shiro doesn't know if he's too embarrassed with Shiro's proximity to keep talking, or if he was sincerely only doing it to get Keith off, but he is quiet now. And Keith, who looks spent but somehow isn't, is nothing but gasping breaths and quiet mewls, his eyes wet and shimmering.

Keith squeezes Shiro's hand again, tugging him like he's trying to ask for something. All Shiro can think about is how long it could have taken for them to figure out how to move together. How long it for Kuro to figure out the words Keith likes.

He likes the way Keith is watching both of them when he looks back up, his eyes still half lidded, but more focused than before. Shiro stares back like he's observing a wild animal; he doesn't know what to expect from Keith, like this. Apparently he doesn't know what to expect from himself, either.

There is an intensity between them, their eyes staying locked even as Kuro pumps his cock in and out of Keith. Shiro feels his own chest heaving in time with Keith's. It feels like the moment stretches for eternity before Keith leans forward again to kiss Shiro over Kuro's shoulder.

It is surprisingly chaste for the heat of things.

Until Keith does not bother to pull away, begging into Shiro's mouth, “Please, Shiro?”

“Yeah,” Shiro answers immediately, not knowing what he is even agreeing to. He doesn't think it matters.

Keith can only reach one arm past Kuro's shoulder, but with it tries to drag Shiro's jacket off his shoulder.

Shiro lets it fall, but doesn't help to completely remove his jacket. Instead he just prompts with a helpless, "Uh?"

"Fuck me," Keith says. Shiro would take it as praise directed at Kuro if it weren't for Keith's eyes piercing his.

Shiro feels like a skipping record. "After…?" He spares a look to Kuro, who pulls Keith against himself long enough to shoot Shiro an equally uncertain look.

It's hard to have a conversation like this. Kuro's attention reverts back to Keith, lifting and lowering him on his lap in a slowed, gentle rhythm. A slow pace is as much of a break as Keith can handle.

There is something erotic about seeing Keith manhandled so easily – in knowing that he could do it too.

"I think he means together," Kuro says, sounding neutral, if not someone strained. His big hands guide Keith back from the crook of his neck so that he can kiss his jawline. His voice is breathy when he asks Keith: "That what you need?"

Shiro can't tell if he is pampering Keith or genuinely trying to talk to him, but either way Keith nods with his brow furrowed.

"Feels so good," he mutters, his voice rough like he is struggling to use it again after all the rasping breaths. "But it's - not enough."

Kuro licks a line up his throat, and Shiro imagines it sizzling in the heat of this small room. Kuro murmurs, "Greedy." Then to Shiro, like a switch flipped, borderline respectful as if his good-leader mask has slipped on at the wrong time, "Is that alright with you?"

"I think so," Shiro says, because he really isn't sure. It feels impossible to predict the repercussions of this, but just as impossible not to obey. He would do anything Keith asked him to.

"You think you're ready?" Kuro asks Keith.

Instead of words, Keith responds by reaching an arm back behind himself, gently teasing at his own entrance, where Kuro's cock is buried to the base. Kuro stills, allowing Keith to test himself, trying to slip his finger in, too. But Keith huffs, frustrated by the angle.

If he's going to participate, Shiro figures now is the time to start. He shrugs off his jacket, leaving it on the floor behind him, and circles around to be behind Keith. His own voice startles him with how low it is when he announces, "I'll do it."

Keith draws his legs back from around Kuro, briefly pulling off of his lap with a needy whimper. He pushes Kuro down by the chest until the man is laying down on the floor, then straddles him, lowering himself down again smoothly.

For a moment he seems to forget the purpose of changing positions, rolling his hips back and forth over Kuro's, riding his cock with a satisfied moan. But it turns into a sound of impatience, and he shifts his angle, leaning forward against Kuro's chest.

Shiro watches Kuro's arms wrap around him, more gentle than he's seen him be all night. He shakes his head and redirects his attention to where Keith's hips are rising up and down. It's mesmerizing to watch Kuro's thick cock disappear into him, to watch him stretch around it. Shiro wonders if this counts as voyeurism or not. Not that it matters anymore. They're well past that point.

There is a bottle of lube sitting nearby, still uncapped and by now a convenient room temperature. Shiro pours it liberally over his fingers. He reaches out, pressing his thumb against Keith's ass, just above his entrance, rubbing slow circles to get him comfortable with it.

Slipping his middle finger in takes patience, and Keith huffs in irritation at having to interrupt his rhythm, completely stilling. Shiro doesn't have the will to huff back at him and remind him that this was _his_ request to begin with. He's too captivated by the feeling of it, of his hot walls squeezing him - of how clearly he can feel Kuro's cock sliding in and out against his finger as the man continues to gently fuck Keith.

He hears Kuro grunt at the sensation too, and feels his cock twitch and throb against him. With a vague sense of satisfaction, Shiro starts to finger Keith in pace with Kuro's thrusts. It's a slow process, working him up to a second finger. Keith's hips tremble in place like he wants nothing more than to bounce up and down, to force Kuro's shallow thrusts deep and hard.

"Patience," Kuro tells him, his voice low again. "Be patient, pretty boy."

Shiro hears, more than he sees, Keith leaning down to kiss Kuro, wet and desperate. He hears their mingling breaths when their lips part, and he imagines their tongues pressing together as harsh as Keith wants to be fucked. Kuro's thrusts stutter; he moans into Keith's open mouth and Keith moans like a response.

Shiro scissors his fingers and hears Keith's head drop to Kuro's shoulder with a guttural, "Oh, fuck."

"Patient," Kuro reminds him in a whisper, but his hands slide down to grab Keith's ass cheeks, and he pushes him down, sheathing himself inside him and burying Shiro's fingers to the knuckle. Over Keith's choked sob, he continues. "You think you're ready for two? You wanna be filled up?"

He must nod, because Kuro gives Shiro a look over Keith's shoulder. Kuro's fingers dig in to Keith's cheeks, spreading him open, guiding him to arch his back and angle himself better, presenting him for Shiro.

Shiro's breath hitches; his heart drops to his stomach with want. He fumbles with his pants, slipping them down around his thighs in a hurry before lining himself up behind Keith. Kuro stills, and Keith's whole body trembles in anticipation.

With the help of lube and patience – Keith breathing in and out in a pattern guided by Kuro, Shiro slides his cock in with Kuro's. The intimate pulse of Kuro's cock is overwhelming now, and the tight squeezing around him has Shiro seeing stars.

"Baby?" Kuro questions. One of his hands comes to touch Keith's face, and Shiro recognizes the swipe of his thumb as wiping away a tear.

Shiro feels like a weakened echo. "Keith?"

"God, just," is all Keith manages, like a whisper, and then his head turns to kiss Kuro's palm, to lick his fingers. A shiver travels up his body, and when he tries to move, his legs tremble like they might go out.

"I've got you," Kuro says. Shiro watches, dizzied, as Kuro slips his fingers into Keith's mouth. With Keith preoccupied sucking, he starts to move. The slide of his hard cock against Shiro's is what spurs him to move too, in opposing rhythm. When Kuro pulls back, Shiro pushes in, constantly feeling their friction, and the tight clench of Keith's walls around them.

Shiro hunches over Keith's back and thinks – if _he_ is overwhelmed from this, he can only imagine how Keith feels. He has to hold back, has to move gently, knowing that no matter how worked up Keith is, this is still pushing his body to its limits.

He hears the hiss of Keith unsuccessfully trying not to drool, the muffled sound of him talking with Kuro's fingers still pressed to his tongue – the wet pop of him pausing to suck them again. "Shiro," he moans, and Shiro finds his hands at Keith's hips just to squeeze them tight, so tight they might bruise. At this point, he thinks Keith might like that.

Kuro starts talking again, falling back into that constant stream of dirty talk that should be ridiculous, but Shiro is pretty sure is getting all of them off equally.

"You're taking it so good, pretty boy. You were made for this. You like it? You like milking both of our cocks? You're so perfect – tight and hot. That's it, baby, take it. Take daddy's cock."

Shiro interrupts, almost just to distract himself from how hard it is to stay gentle. "You into that?" He isn't sure which of them he's asking.

Keith moans around Kuro's fingers like a shameless affirmative.

"Aren't you?" Kuro asks, looking sincerely curious.

Shiro decides not to answer this.

His slow movements have faltered, and now he and Kuro are moving in unison. Pushing in together, drawing back only slightly, followed each time by Keith's hips. With the tilt of Keith's head, Shiro can see the way they kiss, the way their tongues mingle, sloppy and desperate, Kuro's thumb still at the corner of Keith's lips, sometimes still in his mouth as they push together.

But if Keith is into it, that's good enough for Shiro. He still can't stop the possessive way his fingers dig into Keith's hips.

All Keith does in response is reach back with one hand and spread himself open, and Shiro doubles over him again, muttering a hopeless, "Fuck, I love you, you're so fucking perfect." 

Keith's whimper almost sounds like a self conscious noise of protest, but any argument he had is cut off by Kuro. "So perfect. You're gonna make me come, Keith. You want that?"

Keith nods, manages to sound halfway coherent. "Want you to come inside me, feels so good, Shiro."

True to his word, Shiro can feel the way Kuro's pace has gone erratic. Not hard – they both know to be more careful than that – but more shallow. Shorter, deep thrusts, a surrender to selfishness. Shiro doesn't blame him. Not with Keith like this, riding him up to the edge for what must have been at least an hour before Shiro came in.  
 

He can't keep pace with Kuro; knows that with both of them inside of Keith, they have to stay too careful. He doesn't want to impede him from finally getting to come, and he doesn't want to hurt Keith, either. He pulls out carefully, bringing his thumb to press against Keith's hole to make up for the loss. Murmurs, "You're so pretty, Keith, you did so good."  
  
This time Keith murmurs something weakly affirmative, his hips starting to bounce back with Kuro's as the two of them are finally able to quicken the pace again. Kuro drives into him, rough and fast. The speed fucks the breath out of Keith for a second.

The jealousy and satisfaction swirl behind Shiro's eyes. He wants to be the one to make Keith moan so helplessly. But it _is_   his name, gasped out on repeat. Keith is looking as fucked out as he had when Shiro first came into the room, pushed back to the edge.  
  
And after everything, there is something incredibly hot to watching Kuro come apart, even to Shiro. "Keith, baby, oh – God, you take my cock so well, so proud of you. Gonna fill you up good, fuck, _baby_."

Curiously, Shiro slides his thumb lower, down to the base of Kuro's cock as the rest of his length disappears into Keith's ass in fast, fluid thrusts. Kuro chokes; the muscles in Keith's back tense, and Shiro barely hears Keith whisper, "Come on, Daddy, that's it, love you so much."

Kuro comes; with a groan, he pushes into Keith one last time, arms wrapping around his back to hold him tight, and Keith apparently has the clarity of mind to press light kisses to his jaw as he stills.

Now that Shiro draws back and looks closely, Keith seems much more present, pressing one last kiss to Kuro's lips and straightening up.

The way Keith sits up and arches his back gives Shiro the impression that he is toying with Kuro, who shudders beneath him. But the way he turns his attention to Shiro over his shoulder so intently makes him second guess it.

"Did you still need…?" Shiro asks, as Keith finally pulls off of Kuro's lap. Come dribbles down his thigh, and Shiro tries not to stare, failing miserably.

"No," Keith admits. When Shiro looks up, his eyes are bright, vivid violet. "But I _want_. If… If you…"

"I want," Shiro asserts, leaning forward.

Keith's cheeks are still flushed, and while Kuro's breathing may be evening out, Keith's is still labored. His cock is still hard, beads of precome at the tip.

"Bend over," Shiro says, doing his best to sound firm. Keith rolls his eyes, but obeys, and for just a moment, Shiro mourns the weepy, fucked-out and needy Keith from moments ago.

It should probably be weirder to maneuver himself so that he can fuck Keith over Kuro, but at this point, Shiro's meter is blown out. Keith rests on his hands and knees, ass in the air and his face resting on Kuro's chest, where he presses kisses to scars. As if to stabilize him while Shiro pushes back inside, Kuro's hands come to grip Keith's shoulders.

Keith lets out a blissful sigh as Shiro sinks into him, and Shiro bends over him, chest to back. He reaches a hand around, knowing his is not coordinated enough anymore to properly stroke Keith off, but groping at his hips and thighs all the same.

"You're all wet inside," Shiro murmurs, keeping his pace tantalizing slow. He feels Keith shiver at the reminder of Kuro's come. "Still tight, still pretty."

The desperation and hurried pace has slowed considerably now that Keith and Kuro are not feeding off of each other, edging each other up higher and higher, but Keith is still a wreck. His hair is tangled from being pulled and tugged out of the way, from strands winding up in his mouth. His muscles are taught with tension and exhaustion, his whole body covered in a sheen of sweat.

Shiro still isn't lying. Keith is still the prettiest boy he's ever seen.

Kuro's flesh hand rises up, fist burying in Keith's hair and tugging back gently; Keith moans in response, swinging his hips down to force Shiro's cock deep.

"Is this enough for you, baby?" Kuro asks, this time sounding gentle instead of sexy.

Breathless, but coherent, Keith answers, "Yeah. Feels nice. Can feel your come all stirred up inside me."

"Tell me what you want," Shiro says, selfishly wanting to impose himself into their moment. It's torture for him to keep the pace slow. He wants to come. He also wants this moment to last forever; the rhythmic bounce of Keith's hips on his cock, the clear view down his back. The airy quiet – the comfortable, lingering in pleasure.

It feels like he is winding down before he's even come, and the sensation is pleasant, despite everything.

"Just this."

Like a playful whisper, like something innocent, Kuro pets his hair and murmurs, "Such a greedy boy. It takes two to fuck you right. But you can take two so good. Can't believe how nice you opened up for us."

Even Shiro shudders, nearly stilling as Keith's hips keep bouncing, doing the work for him at a leisurely pace.

"You're gonna need this even when you're not in heat, aren't you?" Kuro asks. "You'll need me to fuck you hard and him to fuck you gentle."

In the back of his mind, Shiro wants to protest. Keith does it for him. "Shiro can fuck me hard."

"And I can fuck you gentle," Kuro says, nonplussed.

Shiro can't be sure which idea it was that pushes Keith to impatience, but he finally arches his spine and mutters, "Harder." Then, quieter, "Wanna feel you come."

"Yeah?" Shiro asks, already pushing in deep, feeling Keith's walls squeeze his cock tight. It's satisfying to see Keith's body rock back and forth with the force of his thrusts as he speeds up. "Want me to fill you up, too?" His hands grope at Keith's thighs as if he could pull him closer, pull himself deeper.

Keith throws his head back, and the sound of slapping skin fills the supply closet again. His hands grasp for purchase on the floor, until he gives up and holds himself up with his hands on Kuro's chest. He slurs, "Tha'ssit Shiro, oh God."

Kuro's metal fingers trace Keith's collarbone. Keith's breath flutters, and when Kuro's fingers brush his throat, his walls clamp down around Shiro.

Opposite to the quickened way that Shiro is pounding into Keith, Kuro's touch is slow and cautious. His hand wraps around Keith's throat, no pressure at first.

There is a part of this that scares Shiro. There is also a delicious curve of Keith's back, arched and needy, his breath baited into shudders, and against his better judgment, Shiro says, "You like that? Getting choked out by your daddy while I fuck you?"

There must be a yes in his eyes, because Kuro's hand squeezes. Keith's breath goes out, more held by anticipation than really pushed out of him, but it's enough. He is tight, hips bouncing as desperate as Shiro's cock is hard, meeting his every thrust. His thighs are slick with spilled lube and come, and Shiro's hands slide along them, groping at the tight muscle greedily.

"Come for me again, baby," Kuro commands, and Shiro sees his metal fingers curve tighter. There is too much trust in this for him to comprehend - in it being _that_ arm, still galra-tech or not. But he isn't surprised.

It's the exact sort of thing they would get off on – any of them.

When his grip loosens, Keith coughs, sputters, gasping for breath and moaning all at once. "Gonna come, touch me, Shiro, _Shiro_. Come on, fuck me, come in me."

With urgency, Kuro reaches his free hand down between them, wrapping his hand around Keith's cock in a gentle grip, letting him thrust in and out of his palm as Shiro pounds into him from behind. His metal hand stays, holding Keith softly by the throat.

"That's it, baby boy, God, I wanna fuck you again already. Come for me, come for daddy."

Keith loses it first, not stilling, but his whole body giving a violent shudder, then several more as Kuro continues palming his cock through his orgasm, as Shiro keeps fucking into him, unable to stop himself. Keith slumps forward onto Kuro, wrapping his arms around him, and a moment later Shiro comes too, biting his lip painfully hard.

The air of the room is uncomfortably humid. They don't stay together long. First Shiro pulls back, giving them room. If he were not so completely exhausted, this might be bittersweet; backing away from them like this. He is too well-satisfied to feel it.

Keith slides down to Kuro's side, curled up against him as he tries to regain his breath. Shiro lays down at his other side, vaguely amused at the way Keith extends one leg backwards to brush a foot against him, like a reminder that he hasn't been forgotten, that he was a part of this.

"–Better?" Kuro asks.

"Think so," Keith says.

Kuro muses, as if this does not affect him in the slightest, "Kolivan is going to be mad."

"He won't find out about this."

"He probably will."

"Compromise for a half-truth. Came out here to meet you. Got away with it. He doesn't need to know about Shiro." Keith hesitates for a moment before adding, quieter, "Besides, I'm going to piss him off either way. When he figures out why I delayed everything."

Over Keith's head, Kuro's eyes flit to Shiro.

"Well," Kuro murmurs. "We'll burn that bridge when we come to it."

"That's not how that phrase goes," Shiro points out, despite having no idea what they're talking about.

Keith kicks him, weakly.  


***  


They wake up from their impromptu nap closer than they had been before. Shiro and Kuro curled to either side of Keith, while he sprawled on his back, one hand holding Kuro's, the other pressed against Shiro's thigh.

They are smelly and sweaty and too hot, and the act of getting dressed is done with complaints from all three.

Shiro does not give much thought to the way Kuro waves and tells him, "See you soon," before vanishing with the wolf.

Instead, what he asks is, "Uh, so what's with the wolf?"

"Found him," Keith says, dropping into the pilot seat. "When mom and I were in the abyss."

"The what?"

"I'll tell you soon," Keith promises.

"Sure," Shiro murmurs, not quite believing him.  


***  


Lotor and Allura make it into the quintessence field in their ship, but it isn't terribly exciting from the other side.

No, it _is_ , of course it is. Unlimited access to something that planets are killed for is nothing to scoff at.

It's just that, in execution, the two of them get in a ship, and then the ship disappears, and then that's it for what is slated to be about thirty minutes.

Lance and Keith occupy themselves playing _war_ with the deck of cards. They sit opposite each other with a slowly growing audience.

"This game takes no skill," Pidge complains, standing behind Keith. "It's straight up just luck. I could write a program to play the game for you and there would be zero difference in the outcome."

Hunk plops himself down behind Lance. "It's something to do."

Pidge throws up her arms. "It's not! It's not doing anything!"

Matt pats her head consolingly, or maybe condescendingly. He comes to stand behind Keith, and jokes, "Oh, play that card."

"The top card?" Keith asks, flatly.

"No cheating," Lance snaps.

"Lance," Pidge says, pretending to whisper with her hand cupped by her mouth. "I have some secret insider advice for you. Keith is going to play his top card. I think your best strategy is to play _your_ top card."  
  
Lance huffs. "If you have a suggestion for another game, feel free to say so!"

They play until there are only five minutes left before Allura and Lotor are meant to return, at which point Keith lays down his cards in front of him and pushes up off of the floor.

"Alright," he says, nodding to Pidge. "Now's a good time."

"Wait, I was gonna win that round," Lance says, confused, but already sweeping up the cards to put them away.

"Good time for what-now?" Hunk asks.

No one gets an answer; Pidge makes her way forward to the ship's control panel. Shiro recognizes the screen she brings up from her bracer, recognizes the laughing face she designed for her own hacking tools.

"What are you doing?" Coran asks.

"You'll see," Matt answers. "Trust us?"

Keith's communicator goes off, and he answers the audio call with a simple, "It's off. Give it five."

And then – nothing. They are all quiet, waiting again for Lotor and Allura, almost as if nothing had occurred at all.

When they return, it takes them time to reach the command room together. They are still starry-eyed, at what they've seen and at each other.

They cross the room together, Allura already gushing, "Oh, it was _magical_. Well, perhaps that goes without saying. But it was everything I – everything we expected it would be."

Keith steps closer to them – steps up in front of Lotor.

Whatever galra pheromones he's been putting out are still in effect. Lotor watches him with a piqued interest. Still shoulder to shoulder with Allura, but distracted, like he is unable to tear his eyes from Keith.

In a flash, Keith elbows Lotor in the gut, pushing him so hard that he falls back against the command console. He doesn't get time to recover before Keith lunges after him, shoving him down to the ground and climbing to pin him with the edge of his black knife up against the side of Lotor's throat.

"Keith! What are you doing?!" Allura cries.

Shiro's body feels frozen in place, the understanding crashing over him like a sleeper wave.

This is Keith's mission.

Lotor's eyes are wide with surprise, but he does not defend himself, holding his hands out in a show of surrender. "What's the meaning of this?" He asks, not unkindly. "We are allies. Look at what we've just achieved together."

His calm is impressive. There are scattered calls of Keith's name – from Lance, from Coran, from Hunk, but Keith pays them no mind. He takes advantage of Lotor's spread arms, straddling his back and pinning the man's arms down with his knees. He ignores Lotor's pained grunt. No; he looks satisfied to hear it.

Lotor tilts his head to look to Allura, his moment of patience worn out. "Allura," he pleads, and it is not fear, but anger that slips through.

"Tell them," Keith says, loudly, interrupting whatever else Lotor had been about to say and stopping Allura in her tracks after only one step closer. "Tell them about Romelle."

"I don't know what–" Lotor begins, cutting himself off with a hiss as Keith leans his weight down harder on an arm.

"Keith," Matt says, voice wavering with uncertainty. "This isn't what you said we were–"

"–Oh," Keith interrupts, continuing with his performative one-sided conversation. He does not look up from Lotor's face. "You want me to do it? Or she could do it herself."

"Who's Romelle?" Hunk asks. "Keith, what's going on?"

"An Altean," Keith says.

"An Altean that I _rescued_ ," Lotor corrects. "One of hundreds – thousands!"

"There are other Alteans alive?" Coran asks, with baited breath. Beside him, Allura trembles, her expression stuck at confusion.

"It isn't a rescue when you're raising them for the slaughter," Keith bites out. "Leeching the quintessence out of them like _batteries_."

"Explain this, Keith," Allura commands, taking one more tentative step his way.

"Your _prince,_ here, traveled the galaxies and gathered all the Alteans who hadn't been on Altea. He 'saved' them, hiding them away on a hidden colony. Then he lied, told them he was taking them to a second colony, and picked them off, here and there, to have the quintessence drained from them."

Like animals being farmed. Shiro can see the disbelief on the others faces, but they're only ever had to believe those things when they see them. Brief visits to captive worlds that they've always rescued by the end of the day.

Maybe Shiro is no better – but he's seen it, he's lived it. He knows what the galra can do. Maybe they trusted Lotor too quickly; Keith wouldn't lie. But he waits, watching Lotor, like the rest of them, and waiting for his side of this story.

"It was for the _greater good_ ," Lotor bites out.

Wrong answer.

Allura's heartbreak is audible; a high gasp that slips from her lips. "Then this is true…?"

"The ends justify the means," Lotor pleads with her, as if no one else is in the room, not even Keith. "Allura, please understand that it was only ever out of a need. And now we have access to a better source. This will all have been worth it, and _over_. There have been so many lives saved, so many memories and traditions – an entire race – all because of what I've done. The sacrifices of a few have _supported_ us overthrowing this empire."

There are tears in Allura's eyes. No one is willing to step any closer and risk whatever Keith may do.

"Don't you think that's what they would have wanted anyway?" Lotor asks. "Don't you think they would have gladly given their lives to free the universe from the galra empire?"

No one can answer before an alarm goes off. It is silent, but Shiro whirls as lights by the door flash red. The door slams shut, and Pidge lets out an annoyed "Hm."

Shiro does not miss the way Keith does not so much as look up in surprise.

"We may be under attack," Lotor says, hurriedly. "Please, we can discuss this, but for now–"

"–They're with me," Keith interrupts. "You _are_ under attack. By me. I thought that was obvious."

"I will have no need to extract the quintessence of anyone else, now that we have access to–" Lotor tries again, and gets a shallow cut on the side of his neck in return. This time when he pleads, " _Allura,"_ it comes out furious.

"Romelle had a little brother," Keith says, conversationally. "His name was Bandor, and you killed him."

"And how many galra have you killed? All of you?"

Pidge interjects, with a quiet rage, "There's a difference. Don't try to act like it's the same when you've killed people just for power."

This is what snaps Shiro out of his shock. He has to shake his head to come back to his senses. He doesn't want Pidge to have to be the one to take the lead. "If you want to defend yourself, you'll need a better reason than that."

"Pidge, could you open the door?" Keith asks, not looking up to her. "Guess Lotor didn't give you full access, after all."

She obeys without question, hurrying to the panel and muttering under her breath, "Gotta do stuff on the spot. Stupid updated encryption."

But it doesn't take her long.

"It updates itself," Lotor says, defensively. "I gave you full access to everything I had at the time you asked."

Shiro believes what Keith has said – and he believes Lotor is telling the truth, too. His alliance with them had never been an act. He had kept secrets, manipulated them in doing so, but he had truly thought they could work together. He had truly wanted to accomplish his goals.

The ends justify the means.

Suddenly, Shiro is afraid of what Keith means when he says the same thing.

When the door opens, there is a small crowd on the other side, standing as if they've been waiting patiently.

They are all in black clothes, just like those that Keith had been found in. All wielding black blades like Keith's – save for, on second glance, three of them. They all wear masks and hoods, save for the one in front who takes his off as he enters.

The Blade of Marmora, Shiro realizes. It must be Kolivan in the front, taking confident strides across the room and brushing past Pidge without so much as a glance down.

He guides Keith off of Lotor with a hand on his shoulder – and a foot pressed hard into Lotor's spine to keep him down.

Shiro knows that Lotor is only biding his time. He is not the sort to surrender so easily. They must know it too, because the others come to circle him with caution, despite his apparent compliance.  
 

His eyes scan the rest of them. Their heights and bodies vary, but there is one he recognizes. One of them, without a knife, with a mask and hood to hide his face – is Kuro. Shiro recognizes his own body, recognizes his own stance, and he wonders if it's as obvious to the others or if the thought of a double in their own universe is too outlandish.

One of the others tugs the hood down from her head, her mask fading away. It is Shiro's first time seeing her, but he knows her features like the back of his hand. No, he knows her features like he knows Keith's features. The shape of her face, the sharpness of her eyes. She slips away from the group to come stand with Keith, guiding him away from Kolivan.

"Who are you?!" Coran finally bursts.

"The Blade of Marmora," the woman at Keith's side answers. "Pleasure to meet you."

Shiro cannot tell if it was sincere, a joke, or plain condescension.

Seeming to ignore them all, Kolivan nods to the smallest of his group. "This is up to you."

She is another of the few without her own blade. Her mask disintegrates, too.

Her skin is pale, with blue Altean markings on her cheeks. Blonde hair tied in pigtails spill from her hood, down over her shoulders. Her eyes are a deep purple, set on Lotor with severity. "Information will serve us better than revenge," she says, though it seems to be a great struggle.

One of the others sets a comforting hand on her shoulder, his tail flicking when she nods at him with a strained smile.

Allura finally manages to blurt out, "You're – an Altean!"

She must be Romelle, based on what Keith has said. She glances at Allura with uncertainty, and says nothing.

"Antok," Kolivan commands. "Restrain him."

"You cannot barge in here and take Lotor hostage," Allura snaps, none-too-keen on being ignored like this.

One of the larger men draws out a  pair of handcuffs, crouching down to get them around Lotor's wrists.

"Lotor has admitted to his crimes, and we will see to it that we learn everything we can from him, _and_ we will see to it that he does not get away with what he's done," Allura insists. "But we are not willing to hand him over to a group we know _nothing_ of!"

With the handcuffs in place, their leader finally removes his foot from Lotor's back. Despite having ignored her, and despite that he clearly has no intention of obeying her commands, he still holds a modicum of respect in his voice when he says, "My name is Kolivan. We have been fighting the galra empire for deca-phoebs, and tracking Lotor down for this moment for some time."

"They looked after Keith," Shiro says, tentative. "We can trust them. Keith does."

He spares a glance to Keith, vaguely disappointed that he seems completely preoccupied with the woman at his side. 

" _Can_ we trust Keith? He just pulled a knife on our ally," Lance grumbles, but there is no real argument behind his words. "Or, who I _thought_ was our ally."

Startled as they may be, this has only given more reason to trust Keith's judgment. At the very least, to trust his information.

Seeing Romelle standing alongside the Blade of Marmora is undeniable.

Shiro is distracted, briefly, by Keith drifting from the woman over to Kuro.

"Lotor is our problem to deal with," Allura says. "I am – I _am_ pleased to hear there are other Alteans alive, and pleased to meet anyone who would ally themselves with us and oppose the galra empire, of course, but this is _not_ making a strong first impression."  
  
Keith speaks up, offering, "Anything we get out of him will be shared. If it was up to me we'd just kill him."

"Keith…" Allura says his name like she does not know what to do with that last statement.

Shiro doesn't blame her. Until a minute ago, she was head over heels. He knows too well how hard it is to shake that, even when you're lied to. When someone you love hurts you, it should make you stop loving them. All it does is make it hurt worse. The rest comes with time.

"I mean, we have better means of torturing him for information than you guys do," Keith says, lightly.

Kolivan clears his throat, and Romelle's anger gives way enough for her to try to cover a laugh behind one hand.

"I still don't," Hunk begins, struggling for words. "I don't get it. Are we all – friends? Er, allies?"

They way Kolivan says, "Of course," is like he is conceding, somehow.

Pidge lets out a hum, and when Shiro looks her way, she has her hand on her chin, looking them over. "It was you, wasn't it? You took down Zarkon. And you _wanted_ us to get the credit for it."

Kolivan nods with ease. "The public would hardly accept galra saviors," he says. "The Blade of Marmora was never meant to be known. But Voltron was."

For the second time, Matt looks to Keith and begins, "This isn't what you…"

A look of mild guilt crosses Keith's face. "That's still–" he says, then he stops, too, eyes darting to Kolivan and back. He shakes his head.

Matt frowns, chews his lip, but quiets.

Shiro wishes everyone would stop keeping secrets like this.

"I'll show you to the cells where we can lock him up," Allura says, "And then we can discuss precisely what to do." When Kolivan accepts, she looks to Shiro. "Accompany us."

It is easy to recognize this for what it is. A request for a bodyguard. A distrust of being alone with this man. If he is offended, it does not show.  


***  


They lock Lotor in the cells, where he seethes with a quiet fury, watching them all as if running a ceaseless calculation, searching for an opening to escape.

One of the Blades stays behind to watch him; one who is tall and thin, and almost familiar. Something about him scratches the back of Shiro's brain like an incoming headache. It only gets worse when, before they leave him behind, he says, with hesitance, "Shiro. I'm glad to see you're well."

Shiro nods, but is grateful for Allura calling him away.

The meeting goes for hours.

The Blades all sit at one side of the table, their masks slipping off one by one, save for Kuro's. Across the table, team Voltron.

The debate is led by Allura and Kolivan, with only an occasional interjection from Romelle or Coran. Allura opposes torture, and Kolivan does not. Kolivan wants to put Lotor to death, and Allura does not.

"If you won't kill him, at least find out everything he knows. Make _use_ of his life," Kolivan insists.

"Another man's moral failings is not an excuse to repeat the same sins," Allura argues.

"We could hook him up to the crystals and yank out his brain," Pidge offers, worryingly casual.

Romelle makes a face, and Hunk mutters, "Uh, don't say it like that."

"Torture doesn't actually work, historically," Lance offers. "Pretty sure it just gets lies."

Shiro has learned by now that Keith's mother's name is Krolia, and she shrugs. "There are truth serums."

Hunk whispers, "Cool."

Kolivan objects, "The only known recipes are near impossible to make."

"If you give us ingredients and where to get them, we can," Pidge says with confidence.

Kolivan looks doubtful, but when he glances to Keith, Keith nods. "She can."

"Here's what sucks about that, though," Lance says. "Anything we get from Lotor that we can use is something he probably would have _told us_ if we hadn't smashed the betray button on him. Not that I don't get it, obviously he's a bad guy and we shouldn't work together. But he _was_ feeding us regular and accurate intel. Now all we're doing is trying to get _the same information_ but without his cooperation."

Keith shrugs. "My plan involved killing him right away, so I'm not accepting any blame."

The fondness in Kolivan's voice is startling when he says, "I didn't tell you to kill him yourself."

Keith sounds mournful. "And I didn't."

"There, there," Krolia says, flatly.

"I still think it's valuable to limit his freedom of action and movement," Romelle says. "We may struggle to get the same information, but he will no longer be subjecting my people to _death_."

"Point taken and accepted, totally," Matt says, "And I'm in Camp Kill Him. But he _was_ going to stop with that, anyway, now that we've got access to the quintessence field."

Pidge finishes the thought for him, concluding, "But he doesn't deserve to reap the rewards of what he's done to get there, so yeah. That's a good point, it's more important that we stop him, even at the cost of information."

"It sounds as if we're in agreement on the best course of action," Allura announces. "We'll seek out what's needed for a truth serum and drag everything he knows from him."

"That sounds hard," Hunk says.

Pidge shakes her head. "No, once we get all the passwords, the rest will be data to access. I'm sure there's stuff he only kept in his head, but I think a lot of what he provided us was what he was straight up reading off of old files. We just need to get into those files directly."

"We'll begin that mission tomorrow, then," Kolivan agrees.  


***  


Shiro does not expect to wake up to Keith knocking at his door. Not anymore.

It is the middle of the night, silent, and this time Keith does not step into the darkness of his room, or fall into his arms. The hall light seems almost eerie on his shoulders, bathing him in its bright violet.

Shiro has to squint, eyes unadjusted to the surge of light that has Keith backlit. He thinks he sees Keith smile.

"Come with me," Keith says, quiet, holding out a hand.

Shiro takes it, still blinking the sleep from his eyes.

Keith leads him through the ship, all the way to the hangar.

Kuro is there waiting, leaned against the wall.

Shiro's pulse quickens at the surge of memories – what they've done together, so recently. Now that the adrenaline of coalition politics has washed away. He does not for a moment expect any sort of repeat performance. Not when Keith is leading him away from his room, with crystalline eyes and relaxed body language.

It's strange, actually. This may be the calmest Shiro has seen Keith since they found him. There is something soft in his expression, now that Shiro can see it.

"Where are we going?" Shiro asks.

"On a little test drive," Keith answers. He almost sounds playful.

Shiro remembers their races in the desert. The thought is too endearing for him to be annoyed at waking up in the middle of the night for something like that. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Keith leads the two of them to the hangar.

Shiro isn't sure why it hadn't clicked as soon as Keith said _test drive,_ but now that he is staring down Lotor's ship, he realizes what Keith means.

"It should be up to Allura to decide what we do with these," Shiro murmurs.

"It will be," Keith assures him. "Now, come on."

He doesn't let go of Shiro's hand, gently tugging him, guiding him.

"I'll drive," Keith says, grinning. The hatch opens, and he lets go of Shiro's hand.

Shiro finds himself obeying on auto-pilot. He climbs into the back seat.

Keith slides into the front seat with ease, and Kuro comes to stand outside the ship.

"Sixty four ticks, exactly," Kuro says, firmly. "Don't use seconds. It has to be ticks or it'll be wrong."  
  
The two of them lean, arch, and meet in the middle for a quick kiss. Shiro still does not know his place in this, and that aches, but the confusion is enough for him to push the hurt away.

"Matt should be on lookout," Keith says. "He knows to… Ignore whatever he sees, tonight. Regris is running interference, too, just in case anyone else is a night owl."

"Hi," Shiro interrupts. "What are we talking about?"

Kuro draws back, smiles, and steps away from the ship.

"Don't worry," Keith says, gently. The outer door to the hangar opens, and the hatch to the ship closes overhead. It cuts off the ambient sound of the hangar, like the two of them are suddenly in a small, separate world. Isolated together. "Just trust me."

"It's getting harder," Shiro murmurs, but knows he does not really mean it.

They take flight with a jarring burst that Shiro is not used to. Piloting the black lion is a smooth process, maybe because she's in his mind before he even hits the proverbial gas pedal.

This ship is not sentient.

But it is fast, and it is strong. It cuts through the sky in seconds flat, then out through the atmosphere.

Keith does not slow down. The stars fly by them as the planet behind gets further and further away.

It's an endless void. Pin-prick starlight piercing the pitch black. Keith in the seat in front of him, with his hair in a loose ponytail, shoulders relaxed. He is weightless, like all the stress of this mission he has been swallowing alone is finally gone. All his fear and nerves, all his tension.

He looks over his shoulder, and gives Shiro such a genuine smile that Shiro is not afraid.

He does not know what is going on, but he is not afraid.

"Do you remember when we met?" Keith asks, turning away to face forward.

The image of Keith in the flowers on a long-dead planet pops into Shiro's mind, but he knows this is wrong and dismisses it. Instead he thinks of Keith in the desert red, grinning at him with his arms crossed stubborn over his chest.

"Of course," Shiro says. "You stole my car."

Keith laughs. "But I didn't wreck it, and that's what matters."

"What mattered was that you beat everyone's score in the sim by a longshot."

Keith considers this for a moment, quiet. Shiro does not think this is where he'd intended the conversation to go, but easily, he lets it drift down that path and says, "I wonder about that. If you and I – if I hadn't been a fucking prodigy pilot, what would have happened between us?"

Shiro does not know how to feel about the words _between us_ when they're talking about when Keith was a child, but he shakes off the discomfort. "I don't know. Skills can be learned. Some of the best pilots in the world weren't born naturals."

"Sometimes I just think about… Slav is always talking about these other realities, you know? Where things are just a little different. Or maybe a lot different. You've even seen one. If it weren't for natural talent, I don't think any of this would have…"

Keith doesn't seem to know how to finish the thought.

But at least he isn't ruminating on it too deeply. He shrugs. "Well, whatever."

"You play the hand you're dealt, whether it's good or bad," Shiro offers.

"But some stuff is bullshit. Some stuff isn't _fair_. And that's – fine, I guess. Bad things happen to good people," Keith says, raising one hand up to gesture vaguely in the air. "On the small scale, it sucks, but that's how it is. Good people die every day."

"Keith?"

"I think I would do this whether you were saving the universe or not, is the thing," Keith says. "But it's nice to have that karmic excuse for it."

"For what?"

"What were these ships made for, Shiro?" Keith asks. Before Shiro can even answer, Keith is slamming the controls forward, pouring energy into the ship as if it were as responsive as a lion. It isn't sentient, Shiro can feel the hollow way it responds to them both, silent, unfeeling.

The stars go bright, bright, then vanish with the dark, until their whole ship is surrounded by nothing by a blinding light.

It's the quintessence field. Shiro can feel it flowing through the ship's walls, feel it pulsing against his skin, even through the comet-born metal. Even this muted version of it, blocked out as well as the ship can manage, is overwhelming.

He had been so tired, but that's long-gone now. He feels like he's shot caffeine straight into his veins.

Keith hits a timer; Shiro can hear it counting the ticks by, beeping in that strange rhythm, just enough longer than a second to disorient him every time.

Keith unbuckles; turns around in his seat.

"Sixty four ticks," Keith tells him. In the light of this space, his eyes are bright, a manic ultraviolet. "That's all your body needs to be okay."

"What–"  
  
–Keith reaches back to jab a button, and the hatch of the ship slides open.

There is a harsh breeze, like the sandstorms of the desert, and it whips their hair across their faces. It only occurs to Shiro now that they aren't wearing helmets, and he thinks, hopeless, When it comes to Keith, God he would be so easy to kill.

Keith reaches up to hold back the loose strands from his own face, watching Shiro intently.  The sound of this rift around them is loud, like a screaming tornado. Without the ship to block it, the quintessence flows straight into Shiro, pulsing his vision bright, bright. Almost painful, but not, like the pleasant borderline. That subtle knife-edge that only fills him with impatience, with a need to rush, to run, to do _something_ before his time is up.

"What are you doing?" He asks, having to yell over the sound of the rift around them.

Keith just grins, climbing onto his knees in his seat and holding his arms out towards Shiro. Obediently, Shiro leans forward to lace their fingers.

"Too much quintessence can poison you," Keith says, his voice raised, too. "But if we're careful – it can heal."

"I'm not hurt," Shiro argues, but realizes what Keith means immediately after speaking. "Keith!"

There has been an hourglass inside his body, slowly losing sand.

He does not know what to think of the idea of it shattering before it runs out. It's not anything he planned for. Hoped, maybe, and prayed for, when he was young. Then run from, run with, hurling every inch of his meager life into making it _less_ meager, even if it was going to be cut short.

Everything inside him is running on high – his emotions, his energy. His fear and love and anger.

The hourglass is not made of hours anymore, just _glass_ , sharp and jagged inside him, cutting up his insides with every breath.

If Keith thinks he can come and throw them both into this crazy, dangerous situation just to play heroics for a part of Shiro's life that his been half his identity from the day he was diagnosed–

–The scar on Keith's face is glowing, starlight-bright, and Shiro does not understand why. The only other time he has seen this glow was on Allura's cheeks, on Lotor's.

Keith's fingers stay laced with Shiro's. He is watching Shiro with such a deep concern, a deep concentration, that Shiro's anger is consumed by love.

It does not disappear, but it is swallowed, surrounded and buffered.

God, he never wanted to be sick. He didn't want to die, he didn't want to die _young,_ he didn't want to die _first._ It wasn't a secret, not to Keith.

"–I'm mad at you," Shiro tells him, voice still raised, and Keith's expression falls. Then goes firm, still resolute in his decision. "But I love you."  
  
Keith jerks back like he's startled, and Shiro only squeezes his fingers tighter to keep him there. "You don't have to," Keith blurts out. "You're not supposed to!"

"What happens next?"

"I don't–"

The timer cuts Keith off.

He tears away from Shiro frantically, with an alarming strength; it almost hurts. Everything almost hurts. Like a good vibration that's gone on just a little too long, just a little too strong, rattling his brain, his vision, his teeth.

Keith's hands fly over the controls. The hatch of the ship closes back over them.

When he's sure it's in place, Keith pilots them back out of the rift with trembling hands. It's a struggle to leave. It's hard. Shiro's body tells him to stay. He tells himself no, and a part of him echoes back, _yes_ , against his will.

They tear through the quintessence field and back into their own reality, and the difference is so jarring that Shiro feels like he might faint. Suddenly, the ordinary weight of his body is too much. It's like getting out of water after too much time spent floating, weightless.

For a panicked moment he thinks he was a fool to get his hopes up. To think there could be a picture-perfect miracle that heals him. His muscles ache.

Kuro's voice comes through the ship radio, "Are you okay?"

"Fine," Keith says, but there is exhaustion in every decibel of his voice. "Tired. We're coming in."

Right. There's that, too. Another weight to push down on Shiro and steal the air from his lungs.

After they have landed, Kuro comes to help them out of the ship. Even as he is holding Keith's hand, his eyes are on Shiro, eyebrows high.

"Huh," he says.

"It's pretty," Keith says. The scar on Keith's face has faded back to its dull crimson. He swats Kuro's hand away, then turns to offer his own hand to Shiro.

Shiro already feels less like he needs it, but takes it anyway. "What?"

Kuro frowns. "It makes me look old."

"Oh, no it doesn't," Keith argues. "Shut up."

"What?" Shiro repeats.

Kuro points up to his hair. Shiro frowns; still holding Keith's hand, he leans toward the hatch of the ship to see his own reflection.

"It's white." He observes, feeling outside of his own body. Maybe it is too much of seeing someone else walk around with his own body – too much of a change in his own reflection and it no longer feels like his own.

But he turns his head left, then right, and his reflection does the same.

"It's pretty," Keith repeats, squeezing his hand.

"Oh," Kuro says, clapping a fist onto his palm. "Shiro White and Shiro Black."

Shiro murmurs, "That was kind of already…"

He trails off.

Keith has not let go of his hand.

He turns to face Keith, scanning his face. His violet eyes, the only shade of purple that Shiro has ever loved. His tangled hair, strands so strewn from the wind that they draw swooping lines across one side of his face. The shape of his lips, the shape of his cheeks, both pushed up with his own smile.

"Why did you do this?" Shiro murmurs.

He knows the answer. Keith looks at him with open adoration, love written all over his face. This is what his secrets were for – a personal mission buried beneath his mission with the Blade of Marmora. A careful betrayal of Voltron to betray the Blades, twisting their goals together in his own hands.

Keith shakes his head, still smiling, but does not bother to give it words.

Instead he answers Shiro's _what happens next._ "I think that Kolivan will cave and give Lotor to Voltron. We have too many other missions. We're a small group, and we don't need that weight when it could be taken better advantage of by you guys."

"You're planning to leave with them," Shiro says. "How many times are you going to break me apart, Keith?"

Keith startles. He always looks so shocked to hear that Shiro loves him, so surprised to know that he carries any emotional power over him.

"I don't belong here, Shiro," Keith says. "You know that. I'll leave Red with you, this time."

Keith must know already, but Shiro still tells him, "That's not the issue."

"I mean," Keith says, shrugging, his gaze drifting over Shiro's shoulder in avoidance. "Who knows. When Kolivan figures out what I did… Maybe I'll just get kicked out of the Blades."

Kuro snorts from behind them. "Krolia wouldn't let him do that."

"Mom's not in charge."

"Of the Blades? No. Of Kolivan? Yes."

Keith turns to face Kuro, still holding Shiro's hand. His scowl seems exaggerated – playful –and his free hand comes to rest on his hip. "Are you implying something?"

"It's a respectful implication," Kuro says. "Kolivan's smitten with your mom."

"Mom loves my dad," Keith says with an impressive ease. It's a wound healed over much better than Shiro has ever known it to be.

"You can fall in love twice," Kuro says, and he is staring at their laced fingers. He laughs, but Keith does not seem to follow.

"I'm tired and I feel like I'm dying," Keith says, huffing. He tugs Shiro by the hand, leading him down from the platform. Kuro falls in step beside them.

In Keith's room, they hardly fit into one bed. Kuro and Shiro have to curl in towards Keith, pressed between them in his side. But when Shiro had made to leave, Keith's hand had squeezed his, tugging him back.

It must be the exhaustion of the day, and the difference between the quintessence field and reality. Somehow, Shiro sleeps well.  


***

He oversleeps, in fact.

He wakes to an empty bed, rubs sleep from his eyes, and pads to his own room to get showered and changed.

When he is finished, he heads to the command room. There is an audible gasp when he enters – he quickly realizes that it was just Lance.

"You knew," Pidge says, incredulous. "You were given warning, and you _still_ react like that!"

"To be fair," Kuro offers, sitting with them at the table. He gestures to himself. "It is a little weird."

"Good morning, Shiro," Allura greets. Shiro can see how hard she is trying, how forced her cheerfulness is. He doesn't blame her. Everything with Lotor was only yesterday, and now she has a small army of galra looking up at her expectantly – and a clone of Shiro letting Keith rest his head on his shoulder.

Lance huffs, then mimics, "Good morning Lance! By the way, just so you know what to expect, this Shiro pouring his morning coffee is a _clone_ and the regular Shiro will show up later! Yeah, great warning. Super great."

"It covered all the bases," Matt says, defensively.

"The hair," Hunk says. "Lance, you were warned about the hair, too. Don't leave that out. It almost makes you sound justified."

"I _am_ justified!"

"Don't be rude, Lance," Allura scolds him.

"Yeah, _Lance_ ," Keith plays along, amused.

Kuro snorts. "Don't be childish."

"Yessir," Keith says, rolling his eyes. Then he closes them, as if he had only briefly woken from a nap.

Kolivan is still looking disgruntled when his eyes scan over Shiro pausing at his quintessence-bleached hair. Shiro imagines that any scolding Keith had taken has already happened, because he just frowns and looks back to Allura.

"It looks quite nice, I think! Very dignified," Coran offers, but the fact that he says it so consolingly only makes it more depressing. Dignified, Shiro thinks, is another word for old.

Shiro comes to sit down at the open seat between Matt and Kuro. "Thanks…"

He is acutely aware of everyone's eyes on him.

"Weeeiiird," Hunk says, squinting.

Lance gestures wildly between himself and Hunk. "That's not rude? Just I'm rude?"

Allura does not answer, but Kuro shrugs and says, "You'll get used to it."

"At least it's easy to distinguish them," Romelle says, brightly. "Otherwise they could play tricks on you."

"Yeah, that sounds like something Shiro would do," Matt drawls, and Shiro kicks him lightly under the table.

"Business, please," Allura says. "Now that we're all here."

The map Allura pulls up is different from the projections on the castle. This training ship only projects from the center of the table, though Allura is able to stretch it tall and wide.

"There are a number of ingredients we'll need to gather. Then Pidge has volunteered to–"  
  
"–Play potions!" Pidge interrupts, bouncing in her seat. "Who's the alchemist _now?_ "

In the awkward silence of too many serious-faced guests, Hunk gives her a quiet, consolatory, "Woo."

"Thank you," Pidge says, with utmost sincerity.

"We'll need to gather water from planet Athena, rock sugar from Minel, and the floral-fruit from Mokomo."

"Dibs on rock sugar," Hunk says.

Lance shrugs. "I'll take water, if it's all the same."

"Shouldn't we hear what the planets are like first?" Pidge asks. Then frowns. "Wait, you both took your elements. Damn, okay. I'll get the floral-fruit, I guess."

"You're going to have to make the actual serum," Keith points out. "I'll get the floral-fruit. You just take it easy for a day."

"Bah," Pidge says, waving her hand dismissively, but then concedes, "Fine."

Tentatively, Shiro asks, "How is Lotor, anyway?"

"Unresponsive to questioning, if that's what you're asking," one of the Blades says. The familiar one; Ulaz. He is not half as rough around the edges as Kolivan, but Shiro still cannot read his tone. He thinks he did not mean for this to sound condescending.

Allura takes in a deep breath. She nods to realign herself. "Alright. Athena."

Lance sits up straight, attentive.

"Athena is a planet made entirely of water, so once you arrive, the task should be easy. The area _is_ in galra territory, but I can't imagine it's much more than sentries. Though the waters are valuable, the actual applications are complex, and this leads to a limited need to truly drain the resource."

"Shoot through, grab some gallons, and leave. Got it."

Allura gives him a hesitant smile in return. Lance's way of comforting others is sneaky, Shiro sometimes thinks. Sometimes it's a distraction. Sometimes it's at his own expense.

"Hunk. Minel is a mining planet, with many flourishing cultures that live beneath the surface."

"Been there," Hunk says, pleasantly. "I mean, not there, but, you know. With the Balmera. Same idea?"

"Similar, but with more diversity due to the larger size of the planet. Because it isn't a living planet, there is less of a uniform culture."

"Neat. What do I need to know?"

Allura smiles. "That their cultures still mingle in frequent open-air bazaars held on the surface, where rock-sugar is abundant. If you ask, you will find it."

Hunk whispers under his breath, "Score."

"And lastly, the floral-fruit from Mokomo."

Keith sits up, finally pushing off from Kuro's shoulder to pay attention.

"Mokomo is a planet that is near uninhabited," Allura says. "Though they used to thrive. This means their people can be cold to outsiders. They've remained on the fringe of the galra empire, hurt but not destroyed, and I imagine… That this is a rather bitter feeling."

"Are we going there for resources, or to get them into the coalition?" Keith asks.

Allura pauses. "You're right. They aren't militant, but I still recommend being hasty."

"So, okay, all these ingredients seem _super_ easy to get," Hunk points out. "Shouldn't truth serums be a huge thing, then?"

"It's the process of making it," Kolivan reminds him. "I recommend you each gather a surplus for the failed attempts."

In a deep voice, Pidge says, "No offense. " Then, in her normal voice, "Oh, none taken."

Kolivan just stares. Sitting directly beside him, Romelle muffles her own laughter with her palm.

"Pidge," Matt says.

"I'm kidding. I've been looking at the sequence since last night. It's definitely going to take a couple tries."

Krolia raises her hand politely before speaking. "I imagine that we're all familiar with the appearance of these ingredients. If you'd like to send one Blade with each Paladin to be sure they come back with the right thing."

"I'm not gonna mess up getting _water_ on a _water planet,"_ Lance says, but has hardly taken a breath before he adds, "Dibs on Romelle."

"You can't call dibs on people," Keith says, frowning. "Dibs on Regris."

"Babe," Kuro says, betrayed.

Krolia plays along too, but does not even bother with a wounded tone, her voice staying flat. "Keith."

Regris silently puts a hand over his heart, as if struck by cupid's arrow.

"You think they'll lie to me? At the market place?" Hunk asks. "Try to swindle a hopeless traveler?"

"I think if someone asks for sugar at a market where it's abundant, they're _going_ to get sugar," Pidge tells him. She smirks. "At a huge mark up."

"Aw, no!"

"We have so much money," Allura points out. "That… Is not even remotely an issue."

"It's the principal of the matter," Matt says, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'll come. I'm used to dealing with that stuff."

"… Salesmen?" Pidge asks. She is given a noogie for her trouble.

The laughter bubbles out from Shiro before he realizes, before he can stop it. He knows that everyone turns to look at him, startled, but he can't help it.

They hadn't spent the six months of Keith's absence in a mournful silence, without jokes, without laughter. But there had been a shadow, a heavy weight draped over them, and it's gone now. Through whatever trials they are waist-deep in, Keith is with them, comfortably making jokes. Even if he might leave, even if he has stepped down from being a paladin, he is still one of them.

And it isn't just _Keith_ , it's _all of them_. It's a hopeless fondness that Shiro would bet is partly the reality of his own life in his hands hitting him hard and sudden.

Maybe his breaking point was how clear it is that the Blades are not used to this sort of rapport. Across from Pidge standing on her knees on her seat, facing backwards to swing at Matt as he dances out of the way, Kolivan and the others sit up straight, stern-faced and serious. The only ones to join into the jokes were outliers.

"Sorry," Shiro manages, blinking back tears and trying to catch his breath. "Sorry, go on."

"I changed my mind," Keith says. "Sorry, Regris. Shiro is having a mental break down, so I'm gonna need to bring him to look after."

Regris repeats the motion, hand to his heart, shoulders sagging before they bounce in silent laughter.

"Babe," Kuro says again, with more feeling.

Krolia sounds amused. "That defeats the purpose of having someone who will recognize the floral-fruit."

"Yeah, chaperone their date!" Lance enthuses, and when Keith shoots him a glare he whispers, " _Sabotage._ "

"I know what the floral-fruit looks like," Romelle says, cheerfully. "I'll accompany Shiro and Keith, if that's alright!"

Keith gives Lance a smug grin. "Self-sabotage."

"Aw, Lance," Pidge mocks. "That's tragic."

Regris raises a tentative hand, which Lance nearly lunges across the table to grab.

"Regris is my only real friend," Lance declares. "All of you are dead to me. Except for Allura, obviously. Princess, you're doing great, keep up the good work."

Shiro wonders what expression Regris is wearing under that mask; he is one of the few who has not removed his. But he does not pull away from Lance, so it is probably not annoyance.

Allura, for her part, just blinks and nods, taking the praise at face value despite the circumstances. This, Shiro imagines, is probably correct.

Matt clears his throat loudly. "If I have to sit through any more of this, I get the feeling we are going to lose our new and wonderful allies who we appreciate so much."

"But if you left the room, we wouldn't lose them?" Pidge asks. "I know you meant to bully _us_ , but that kind of turned into a self-own."

Hunk frowns. "Aw jeez, Matt. Don't drive away our allies, they seem really cool."

"Thank you," Krolia says.

"D–Oh no, I was about to say dibs on Keith's mom and that would have come out all kinds of wrong."

Pidge smacks him on the arm lightly. "What's the point of self-filtering when you're just gonna tell everyone what you caught?"

"Please," Matt begs. "Please, can we accomplish something?"

"We already have," Pidge says. She leans forward against the table, trying to point across the map, but much too short to reach her destinations accurately. "Look, Lance is going over here, to get water from Athena, with Regris. Hunk is going to Minel with Matt and Krolia to get rock sugar at a bazaar, if that's cool with you, Krolia?"

She shrugs. "Sure."

Pidge resumes, "Cool. Then Keith and Shiro and Romelle are going to Mokomo to get the floral-fruit. And I'm gonna chill here and work on this recipe with help from – anyone left who wants to help me. Any complaints? Anyone?"

There is a rare silence, everyone's eyes traveling across the table.

"Cool," Pidge says again. She falls back into her seat and claps three times. "Uhh, break."  


***  


Kuro sees them off with an easy wave. Pidge waves from beside him, until she is distracted by his arm, jumping up to grab him, hanging off of his arm in an effort to pull it down to inspect.

Keith is still laughing when they pass through the wormhole Allura opens for them.

The planet comes into view quickly, and Keith follows the approximate coordinates. As he pilots, Romelle inspects Shiro, looking him up and down.

"So you're – Shiro."

He resists making an _as far as I know_ joke. It seems in bad taste. _The one and only_ is another strong contender for Awful Things to Say Casually.

He settles on, "Yeah."

"Well," Romelle says, contemplative. "I've been a big fan of Shiro – of our Shiro. So I'm sure that I'll be a big fan of yours as well."

"I'm a fan of anyone who's helped look after Keith," Shiro admits, and doesn't miss the way Keith's head tilts in their direction, listening.

"Other way around, I'm afraid. Keith was the one to find me on Lotor's colony. He brought me back to the Blade of Marmora, and they've been looking after me far more than I've been looking after them." She had begin the thought with a smile, but by the end it has faded. Her fingers comb through the tips of a pigtail like a nervous habit. "I want to protect people. That's what an elder sibling is supposed to do."

Keith murmurs, "Romelle."

She shakes her head, forcing a smile back on her face. "I've been on the sidelines. Shiro –our Shiro – is able to help with missions, but I'm not suited to combat. As much as I'd _like_ to be… At any rate, Keith has my gratitude. I don't deserve yours."

"I wouldn't go that far," Shiro insists. "If you're friends, that's reason enough."

"I hope that we are," Romelle ponders, as if Keith is not present to confirm.

But he is, and he does, taking a moment to land the red lion on the ground before turning to Romelle. "We're friends, Romelle. Of course we are."

Shiro wonders if maybe Keith was right. Maybe he doesn't belong with Voltron. Not because they are not his family, not his friends – but because he has another family that he's found, and it is up to him to decide which one is better for him.  


***  


They don't even encounter any natives of Mokomo.

The red lion sits in a wide clearing in a forest, shining under the bright light of three distant suns. When Red's force-field is up, Romelle takes the lead.

Shiro suspects Keith lets her just to give her something to pour energy into – she's not the greatest guide. She keeps getting distracted by landmarks, as if they are more reliable than the scanner's map, despite her being unfamiliar with the region to begin with.

They follow a ways behind her, side by side.

Shiro watches Keith, sidelong. Watches the breeze in his hair and the smile on his face.

He keeps his voice low, not wanting to force Romelle into hearing the conversation, but unsure of how to keep from having it.

"You can go, if you have to. After all of this."

Keith does not look his way; his eyes drift low, instead. "I know."

"I don't want you to."

"I know."

"I meant what I said. I've meant it every time. I do love you, Keith." Keith opens his mouth, and before he can say anything, Shiro cuts him off. "And that's not guilt or gratitude. It just is what it is. And it doesn't come with anything, either. I don't have any expectations. You don't owe me anything. I'm not trying to – I know that you're already with…"

Keith's hand bumps into his. Shiro almost thinks it was an accident, but Keith nudges him again, pointedly, until Shiro laces their fingers together.

"This isn't a secret." Keith says, squeezing. "Shiro knows that I love him. Shiro knows that I love you. If there was – if he had any problems with that then he wouldn't have – we just, we've already…"

Keith gives up on articulating whatever that thought had been, and Shiro lets out a quiet laugh at his expense. He enjoys the dirty look Keith shoots him for it. The way Keith pouts for just a moment, then breaks back into a smile like he can't hold it back.

"Wrong way!" Romelle calls to them from a small distance ahead, backtracking from a turn she had taken.

Shiro arches an eyebrow. "The blind leading the blind," he jokes.

Keith nods, laughs.

Walking like this, hand in hand through green grass under a blue sky; it should be the most natural thing in the world. Almost like they are home. But it isn't the three suns or foreign vegetation that keep it surreal. It's how relaxed Keith is after how long he had hidden behind thick walls. How gentle their touch is after weeks of Shiro fucking him senseless with a grip tight enough to bruise.

Not that Shiro would mind a return visit, obviously, but this is – nice.

This is the part of Keith that he had longed for just as much, and after it being withheld from him, to have it given so freely, so easily, is a small wonder.

"–We've already talked about it," Keith finally blurts out. "I'm never going to choose between – that's not a _thing._ And I hate talking about this. But. I just want to be clear. I want you to know."

"To know what?" Shiro presses.

"That I love you. That I'd do anything for you. Anything you want. And I don't mean that I'll _be_ anyone you want me to be, because that's stupid, and I won't. But whatever you want me and you to be, together, then that's fine." After a moment he adds, "And – no expectations. If you don't want… Anything. That's fine. You don't owe me anything."

Shiro says, earnestly, "I just want you to be as you are."

Keith frowns. "Yeah, that's what I just said."

Shiro lets out a quiet puff of laughter. He looks at the sky, still and cloudless. An endless blue. "You said you've loved me since you were fifteen, right?" Shiro asks. Keith gives a tentative nod. Shiro squeezes his hand, tells him, "I've loved you since I lost you."

"I lost you once, too," Keith murmurs. Then his steps falter as he makes this connection for what is clearly the first time. Shiro's hand is tugged as Keith falls behind, hesitating. "I never meant to make you go through the same–"

"–That's not what I meant," Shiro rushes to assure him. He gives a gentle tug and Keith falls back into step with him. "What I wanted to tell you is that I don't love you because of what you did for me, or because of what we did together. I love you because I know you, and I've known you. That's all."

"Still?"

"Of course."

"Even if, uh… Even if you're not the only – er…"

Amusement tugs at Shiro's lips. "Even if I have to share you with _myself_ , yes."

Keith pauses for a moment. He admits, "I would stay, if you asked me to."

"I won't," Shiro murmurs. "Even if I want to, I won't."

Keith smiles; it's bittersweet. Maybe he wants to hear Shiro ask him to stay, but Shiro is sure that even if that's true – he doesn't really want to grapple with the reality of it. Sometimes you want to be loved in desperate words, but when it's time to put them into action it's more misery than it's worth.

It seems almost like a separate thought completely when Keith says, "I would do anything for you, Shiro."

Shiro just nods.

The conversation should be uncomfortable. It is awkward, certainly, but some part of it is easy. They are not debating or trying to win an argument. Just settling what is there, patient, hand-in-hand. Navigating.

Unlike some people.

"Wrong way!" Romelle calls again, turning on her heel.

"Can I see the map?" Keith asks.

Romelle squints at Keith, then leans away, holding the map farther from him. "No."  


***  


It takes another hour to find the field of floral-fruit.

Shiro had expected tall trees and, well, _fruit.  
_ 

But they grow on the ground. They look like flowers, really. They are small, purple, with white specks across them, like the light when it shines on Keith's pretty eyes.

Keith stands among them, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Are you fucking kidding me."  


***  


Pidge laughs until she cries, when they return.

"They're – they're _not_ ," she manages. "Don't worry, don't worry. These are – I'll analyze them to make sure, so hold off on high temperatures until that's out of the way, but I think these are just look-alikes. They're not tria flowers. God, can you imagine?"

"Yes," Keith says, flatly.

"Someone would have warned you," Pidge assures him, taking off her glasses to wipe tears from her eyes. "There was a whole table of galra. If they were sending you out to get more tria flowers, _someone_ would have said something about the way we divided up tasks."

Keith does not budge until Pidge has finished analyzing the flowers and given him confirmation that they aren't the same as the tria flowers, that they don't carry the same traits or chemicals.

On a bench at the edge of the room, Shiro sits down on one side of Keith, and Romelle on the other. Shiro figures watching Pidge is as good a way to pass the time as any; she seems to be enjoying herself, still tinkering with Kuro's arm as he obediently kneels on the floor, holding it out for her.  
  
It isn't long before Lance comes back, hauling jugs of water and muttering, "It's just _water_ , like, why does it matter where it's from? It's _water._ "

"That would be a valid complaint if we were looking for distilled water, I guess," Pidge says. She tries to take the last jug off his hands, but when he lets go, it drops to the ground, pulling her arms down with it. After letting out a "Hm," and gesturing for Lance to pick it back up, she adds, "This water is probably special because of whatever lives and grows in it. Could even be something chemical from the sun its under. Who knows."

"You," Lance tells her, heaving the jug to the side of her work station. " _You_ should know. You're the scientist!"  
  
Hunk returns next, stepping into the room in silence to avoid interrupting the conversation, but nodding in greeting. He has a large sack slung over each shoulder; when Krolia follows him in, she has three more in her arms.

"Do you ever think about how _scientist_ and _witch_ are basically synonyms in space?" Pidge asks, watching them set the ingredients down beside her. "Do you think _witch_ has the same gender connotations in space as it did on earth?"

"How would any of us know that?" Lance asks.

"I've noticed a lot more matriarchal cultures out here," Hunk says. "So I kind of doubt it. So much of it comes from the puritanical phases of our culture and it's all so small-scale, you know? Real brief, real centralized compared to the way people live when they know about interplanetary travel."

"Hunk," Lance groans. "Don't make me look bad with your thinky words."

"I guess it boils down to magic just being science we don't understand," Pidge says. "It's just following rules we haven't figured out. Just because it does crazy things doesn't mean there isn't a method."

" _It's just doing crazy things we don't understand_ is not, like, the best way to give us confidence in your potions."

Krolia takes a seat to Romelle's other side, giving each of them a nod of greeting. Then interjecting into conversation, "When the test subject of the serum is someone we wouldn't mind killing, there isn't much need for perfection."

"Yeah, Pidge, don't stress," Lance says. "Worst case, you poison him."

"Worst?" Hunk questions.

Pidge says, wistfully, "I _could_ just poison him, couldn't I?"

Shiro can never decide if these kinds of jokes are a comfort or alarming. He thinks of his own life as a solid, tangible thing that exists inside of him, no longer the air in his lungs that escapes him with every breath. He thinks of Keith throwing everything he had into his missions, throwing aside what he wanted just to kill Zarkon in cold blood and planning to do the same to Lotor.

He thinks of Lotor asking them how many people they have killed to make it this far.

Gallows humor, he supposes. War is war, but there are calms between storms.

He feels on a cusp of hysterics when he dwells on it too long, and now there is this whole new existential layer. Now it isn't just the death toll versus the better good.

Now it is something personal, something he feels in his core, because – God, he is alive. He is going to _be_ alive. It doesn't feel any different in his body, he doesn't even know that he can trust it yet, but his life up until now has felt compressed, condensed, crammed tight in a container too small, without a second's relief.

It's releasing all that pressure and finding that he's made a diamond, but it's jagged and sharp-edged and he doesn't know what to do with it, or with his own hands that brought it into creation.

Lance sits down on Shiro's side, oblivious, and knocks their knees together to get his attention. "How was your field trip?"

"Not bad," Shiro answers. "It was… Peaceful. One of the easier fetch-quests we've had to run."

Keith says, "Romelle can't read maps."

"If I can't read maps, how did we find the fruit, Keith?" Romelle asks, crossing her arms.

Keith does not dignify this with a response, and Shiro does not blame him. It had taken them over an hour to find the floral-fruit, and when Romelle had allowed Keith the map to get them to the red lion, the walk back had hardly been fifteen minutes.

"Cool, cool," Lance says, brushing past it for them. Then: "A mermaid tried to drown me."  
  
Hunk says, "Matt proposed to an alien with feathers for hair after talking to her for aboouut… Three minutes?" 

Confidently, Krolia assures him, "That's just what humans are like."

***

The early steps are not terribly interesting to watch. Pidge fusses over her calculations, sometimes running off to grab one of the Blades away from Allura for a second opinion on her work.

Then she measures the ingredients out into exact portions – fourteen different times.

"In case I mess up, so we don't have to do this part again," she explains, when Hunk asks why, exactly, he is measuring out so many jars of the Athena water. Across the table from them, Kuro dutifully continues grinding the rock sugar.

"So it's not the ingredients or the measurements that are difficult," Kuro observes.

"Not so much. It's just the process. Lots of heating and cooling and perfect timing. If I didn't have the resources of a ship like this, like, if I were trying to use a regular science kit from home? I don't think I could do it."

"You probably could," Matt says, not looking up. He is sitting close by, toying with his own copy of Pidge's recipe on a laptop. When Shiro catches a glimpse of the screen, it looks as if he's experimenting with alterations, simulating the results for substitutions.

"Oh no," Pidge says, entirely unconvincing. "It's just so difficult. So complex."

Matt snorts.

"As long as nothing explodes, I think we're calling whatever you manage a success," Kuro offers.

"I can assure you that very few steps are capable of making an explosion." Pidge says.

"You're trying to lull us into a false sense of security," Lance says. "We won't fall for it. We won't underestimate your ability to blow stuff up."  
  
Pidge pauses long enough to look up to the ceiling. "I miss Rover."

"Rover was a demon," Lance says.

"He made an honorable sacrifice for the honor of your skin," Matt says.

Hunk frowns. "That does not make our son sound _less_ like a demon, and I'm feeling very offended at all this name-calling. Please be sensitive to a grieving mother."

"Thanks, boo," Pidge says.

Even Hunk falters at the nickname, no matter how flatly was delivered. He nearly drops his jar of water.

Shiro hears Keith laugh beside him.

"So there are truth serums in space," Lance says.

"There are sort of truth serums on Earth too," Kuro offers. "Well, things we call truth serums, anyway. They slow down communication from your spinal cord to your brain, which can make it harder to think clearly enough to lie."

"Doesn't work a hundred percent, though," Matt chimes in.

"But this one is like a _real_ truth serum," Lance says.

"In theory," Pidge says. "Nothing stopping him from just clamming up, though."

"Torture works," Keith says, with confidence.

"Keith," Lance says, crossing his arms over his chest. "No, my dude, it doesn't."

Keith shrugs, as if to say _agree to disagree_ , and Shiro offers Lance a consolatory look. Lance is right, after all.

"So then are there things like – other fantasy game potions?" Hunk asks.

Lance says, "They have Dungeons and Dragons, which is like, why have that if the stuff in it is as good as real?"

"Monsters and Mana," Pidge corrects. "And, I dunno, the same reason people write historical fiction and sitcoms and stuff, probably."

"You could ask the Blades," Kuro offers.

Pidge grins. "Then I could be… Potion-master Pidge!"

"Catalyst Katie," Matt suggests.

Hunk sets down the last of his jars. "Oh! The poison paladin."

"Herbal hero," Lance says.

Pidge considers these for a moment, mulling them over. Then decides, "I'm tired of this joke and I need to start playing with fire, so everyone get out. No distractions. Matt, Hunk, you can stay. And, hm, Shiro, too." To clarify, she points to Kuro, who blinks, but nods. As if she thinks she needs to explain herself, she glances over her shoulder to Shiro. "Gotta get to know this one better, no offense, Shiro."

"None taken," Shiro says, easily.

Lance kicks his feet out, heels knocking back against the edge of the bench when the fall back. "I'm offended! You're just saying _Keith, Shiro, and Lance, get out!_ "

"Keith and Shiro have been quiet, actually," Pidge says. "They can stay."

"I could just be quiet, too! We were all talking!"

Keith rises from his seat, head turned to laugh into his shoulder. He offers a hand to Shiro. "We'll get out of your hair."

"Come play cards with me," Lance insists, standing up too and elbowing his way into Keith's side.

Keith rolls his eyes but says, "Fine."  


***  


For the next week, Shiro sees Pidge precisely three times.

He hears from Hunk and from Kuro that she's taken to sleeping in her makeshift lab to make sure she can carry out steps as soon as her timers and alarms go off, then return to sleep. Shiro often catches Matt in the middle of grabbing food or clean clothes from her room to bring her.

The first time Shiro sees her after she begins, it is late in the night, and she inches her way into the kitchens, moving slow and sluggish. She rubs sleep from her eyes, gives him a silent waves, and makes herself a plate of food.

"The sugar won't dissolve," Pidge tells him, in lieu of a greeting. "It just won't dissolve. I've tried everything. That is not how sugar is supposed to work. Why do they call it sugar? It's a rock. It's just a big ground up _rock,_ it's _sand._ "  
  
"Not going well? Shiro ventures.

She gives him a withering stare, shakes her head, and pads out of the room.

The second time is four days later, when she bursts into the common room with Hunk on her heels. If the doors didn't open automatically, Shiro is sure she would have slammed them. She has a vial in hand, translucent and pale, the color of lilacs.

"Does this seem right?" She asks, to the general populous of the room.

Kolivan motions for her to come closer, and a couple of the other blades lean closer to inspect it. The most he will concede to her is a cautious, "Visually."

Pidge puffs up her chest, standing tall and pulling the vial back closer to herself. "Nice. I need to run a bunch of analytics on it first, we don't need to do a live testing or anything, but that's a good sign!"

Two days later she is back with another vial of what appears to be the same thing.

"I had to be flash frozen then unfrozen then there was the sugar problem, and then the microscopic pollen, then there was filtering out the sodium and the–" She notices that only Matt is nodding along with her. "–Never mind. Anyway, I'm pretty sure it's not deadly and I'm _pretty sure_ if we force this down Lotor's throat, he'll answer our questions."

"I'll do it," Allura volunteers, surely trying to be firm but with a waver to her voice.

"You can start it off, but I'm planning on poking around his head as much as I can," Pidge interjects. "I don't think you'll want to stay for the whole thing."

Shiro suspects Pidge is just trying to limit Allura's exposure to Lotor. He doesn't blame her. That's no way to recover from a heartbreak.

"Oh, also," Pidge says, nodding back to Kolivan. "I made a kind of big batch. We probably only need like two or three vials, depending on how long Lotor can keep his stupid mouth shut, but I thought I'd leave the rest with you guys when we split. Seems like something you could make better use of. Plus, I know how to make it, so I could make more."  


***  


The interrogation crew winds up being Allura, Kolivan, Ulaz, Romelle, Pidge, Matt, Shiro, and Kuro.

"He knows we want him alive, he knows he needs to eat and drink," Pidge says, looking at Allura. "Just give this to him like the rations we've been bringing him. Make sure he drinks it, talk to him until you can get something, then call the rest of us."

Allura accepts the glass, her movements stiff.

"You can do it," Pidge assures her, but Shiro does not quite like the flatness of her tone. She isn't as good a liar as Matt can be. Her thoughts fly too fast and too high. The blankness of her expression is always an easy tell that she is covering something up.

Shiro just doesn't know what.

Keith bumps their shoulders together, as if sensing Shiro's discomfort. It's a sweet gesture from a boy whos other hand is resting subconsciously over his knife.

The group of them stand, waiting, for nearly twenty minutes before Allura comes storming back through. She is not crying, but there is a tell-tale tremble of her lip and waver in her voice when she tells Pidge, "I have the access codes to his databases. Anything else you want, take it from him at your leisure. And when you're finished, take him away from here."

 _Away from me,_ Shiro knows she means.

Pidge presses a light touch to Allura's arm, and Allura covers the smaller girl's hand with her own for a fleeting moment of gratitude.

Then, voice tight, says, "Excuse me," and makes her retreat.

By the time the rest of them get to Lotor, he's wised up enough to keep his mouth shut. Kolivan and Ulaz manage to get meager details from him, but don't seem to mind the long stretches of his silent glaring. They already know they'll have access to his database.

Seeing a man who's lived by concealing the truth forced to give it is uncomfortable. He's the enemy, Shiro knows, but there is something terribly sad about how he hunches forward. He has always looked so dignified and now he is uncomfortable, tired, hungry.

Kolivan and Ulaz press about his plans, mostly. Whenever they try to ask of Haggar, of her weaknesses, he purses his lips tight, until the interrogation steers back into territory he feels he can conquer.

"What were you hiding?" Shiro asks. "What did you want from us, what would you have pushed us into if we'd continued our alliance?"

"I have been sincere in all my plans thus far," Lotor bites out, still with an indignant desperation as if he thinks he could talk his way back into Allura's heart even without her in the room. "I want to show the galra empire that their vision of power is meaningless if all it does is destroy."

"All that means," Keith says, "is that you had a different image of power you were pursuing."

"All of you are much too focused on the past, on the necessary steps I took to make it this far. The ends justify the means," Lotor insists. "If I would use that power to protect, then what–"  
  
"–But you _didn't!_ " Romelle interrupts, furious. "You preserved us, like specimen! That isn't protection! Protection should grant freedom!"

"You wanted the throne because you thought you could do it better," Ulaz says. "But your vision of peace is hardly noble."

"I don't see why you're questioning me at all," Lotor says. His voice is like a wire, stretched thin and ready to snap. "You've already made up your mind."

It's disgusting, Shiro thinks. His stomach churns at how steadfast Lotor is in his ideals. And he can admit, they look good on paper. But he is too willing to sacrifice others, to play them like pawns and move them where he wants them, even if it means they die. He sees the world as a chess board to be won.

Shiro could never take his side, knowing Romelle's story.

"The serum should wear off soon," Pidge says, at length. Her tone is still flat, and she stares away from everyone as if she is more interested in the empty cell beside Lotor than anything else. "If you want to keep questioning him, you should give him another dose."

The Blades do not have to speak to coordinate themselves; it makes Shiro wonder how many similar scenes they have seen. It makes him wonder how many times Keith has slipped into a cellar door and yanked a prisoner's head back by their hair. How many times Kuro has followed him, squeezing a captive's cheeks to pour a drink down their throat, forcing them to swallow even when they choke and cough.

The stark contrast between Keith bickering with Lance over card games, between Kuro letting Pidge hang from his arm like monkey-bars – and this – should be more frightening.

Shiro knows what needs to be done, though. You don't get to be called a champion without learning how to flip the switch.

He just hadn't realized that Pidge had learned to do it, too.

Lotor doesn't stop coughing, doesn't stop sputtering, until he is gasping for air and coughing up bloody foam.

Keith whirls, not bothering to exit the cell and throwing his hands around the bars across from Pidge. "What did you do?"

"We got everything we needed," she says, sounding distant.

"Pidge," Shiro murmurs.

She is the youngest, but she is not a child anymore. She looks up at Shiro with sharp eyes and a stern frown. "What? This was the best plan. He's not stupid, he was going to try to escape eventually and it's _his_ ship; I don't think he would have failed."

"We had guards," Kolivan points out, but he does not seem particularly concerned with the gut-wrenching sound of Lotor struggling to breath.

"It's better to act first," Pidge says, standing firm.

Keith turns back to Lotor; the prince tries to form words, tries to curse them, reaching his arms back at an inhuman angle to break from his handcuffs. He manages, too, but his words are incoherent and when he lunges at Keith it is weak. All Keith has to do is step aside, letting him fall to the floor.

Kuro's foot presses on Lotor's arm to keep him from getting back up.

"Good," Romelle murmurs, though her voice trembles. Shiro watches her. She does not look away from Lotor for a second, watching the life drain from him slow, slow, until finally his body is limp. It is still, with blood pooling beneath his face. Maybe from his nose, maybe from his mouth. Shiro is in no mood to turn him over and check, but his breathing is stilled.

The Blades stare, dispassionate, at the dead prince.

Shiro had thought he looked pathetic in handcuffs, but collapsed on the floor in his own blood is much worse.

Kuro slowly steps back.

Shiro sets a hand on Pidge's back and feels her tense before she relaxes against the touch.

"We should report to the princess," Ulaz murmurs to Kolivan.

Kolivan nods back, then to Keith and Kuro in the cell. "You three, burn the body."  


***  


They watch the flames in silence.

When Shiro slips his arm around Keith's waist, he bumps into Kuro's arm, already there. Silently, Kuro drops his hand lower to make room.

***

Shiro pulls Matt aside after a quiet, uncomfortable dinner that everyone seems eager to escape from.

He asks, quiet, "Did you know?"

Matt chews his lip for a second. "Yeah. It was Pidge's idea, but – we made the poison together. I helped her do it. You think it was wrong?"

Shiro can't quite bring himself to say no out loud, even if he believes it. But he shakes his head, and Matt offers a tentative smile. Then knocks a fist against Shiro's arm.

"So? Now what?" Matt asks.  
  
"Back to business as usual," Shiro says, refraining from a shrug that would seem far too helpless. "We chase distress signals and work with our allies. All that's changed is who those allies are."

"Keith told Allura he'd leave the red lion with us," Matt says. "So maybe our next step is finding a new paladin for it."

Shiro's eyebrows raise. "You offering?"

"I would look _extremely_ good in the paladin armor," Matt muses. "But I don't think that's a good match."

Shiro snorts, and mimics Matt, knocking him the shoulder once.  


***  


Keith and Kuro are waiting for Shiro in his room.

Shiro blinks at the sight of them; Kuro pinning Keith to the bed with one hand around the nape of his neck, buried in his hair, the other cupping his face, thumb stroking over the scar on his cheek.

"Don't you two have your own room?" Shiro asks.

Keith tilts his head as far back as he can, looking at Shiro upside down. "Yeah, but you're not there, so."

"So," Kuro repeats, but draws back from Keith as if self conscious. Keith rolls his eyes, and Kuro huffs at him silently before looking back to Shiro. "Is this really – a thing?"

At this point, Shiro does not think it is even awkwardness or discomfort that keeps their words vague. It's that they don't have the words to use to begin with.

Shiro hovers near the door, unsure of where he should be. He does not like having to admit that even though the answer is yes, the real answer is "When it can be. If the two of you are leaving, then…"

A frown tugs at Keith's lips, and Shiro likes staring at the shape of it, even if it is not ideal.

"We're probably leaving tomorrow," Keith says, as if he doesn't like the taste the words have left in his mouth.

But that's that. Shiro can't _force_ Keith to stay with Voltron. He would never want to. He knows too well what it's like to have what you want torn away from you just because it's dangerous, just because someone else has something else that they want for you, something else for you that they think will keep you safe.

If you love them, let them go. That's what Shiro had drilled into his own head when Adam left him. He had repeated it like a mantra whenever his home had felt too big, too empty, too quiet. It was a stupid phrase then and he still thinks so now, but he'll repeat it as many times as it takes if it means Keith can be where he wants to be.

"We'll be in contact," Keith ventures, gently, and Shiro wonders what his expression had given away.

"Realistically, the Blades are more hands-on that the members of your coalition of peace," Kuro adds. "I don't think we'll ever be that far apart."

"Space is vast," Shiro says, feeling stupid.

Shiro doesn't feel small very often. Not with everyone looking to him for leadership, and not with that mask as familiar as his own skin.

But, well, the muscles inside him are mended and new, so is it any wonder?

It doesn't feel good to be comforted by Keith and Kuro. The protégé that surpassed him, saved him, and rejected being his successor with the insistence that Shiro did not need one to begin with. And – Kuro, Shiro's own goddamn self that beat him to the punch at loving Keith, and that is not a jealous thought, really it is not, it is just a pathetic one.

Shiro lets out a long breath and tries to shake off his own poor mood. If this is his last night with Keith on the same ship, he'd like it to be spent in better spirits.

"Come here," Keith commands, pushing Kuro with his foot to make room for Shiro. Obediently, Kuro scoots over, wedging himself into the back corner of the bed and stretching his legs out towards Keith.

Shiro obeys, too, sitting down at the edge of the bed. It occurs to him that him and Kuro are both completely wrapped around Keith's finger.

Keith draws up to sit between the two of them, his hand coming to rest on Shiro's shoulder.

"Think of it like this," he says, with a coaxing smile. "Space is vast, and you still found me. I was actively _hiding_ , and you still found me."

"I'm not sure that's as comforting as you think it is," Kuro tells him.

"I don't need to hide anymore, so it's extremely comforting and I'm great at this," Keith insists. "Shut up."

Shiro laughs lightly. "No, it's – I get it. I know."

Kissing Keith is easy. Keith angles himself, tilting his head up, eyes fluttering shut and one hand coming to cup Shiro's cheek and draw him in.

What Shiro doesn't expect is the shift of the mattress behind him, and Kuro's hand slipping along his hipbone.

He draws back from Keith, blinking.

"No?" Keith asks, soft.

"I don't think I'm that much of a narcissist," Shiro says.

"How, though?" Keith wonders, staring at Shiro like it is a great mystery of the world.

Shiro and Kuro both laugh at the same time, the sound of it jarringly identical. That only makes it worse.

But then there are differences between them. Deviations in their thought processes. Kuro says, "Keith and I will still be together after this. But you're the one we won't see for a while."

Shiro considers.

The logic seems sound to him.

And, as he soon figures out, Kuro knows exactly what his body likes.  


***  


Shiro has been hugging Keith for too long, he knows. Keith's side of the embrace had been tight at first, but now it's gone light and soft. Shiro closes his eyes, tries to burn the feeling of Keith's body against his into his memory, tries to drag out the moment longer, longer.

The rest of the Blades are waiting by their ships, their silence striking Shiro as impatient, but no one says a word to hurry them along.

"You could stay with us, if you'd like," Allura ventures. There is no audible response, but Romelle must have shook her head, because Allura murmurs, "Alright. But know that you're welcome any time."

This can't last, Shiro knows. He's going to have to let Keith go.

The interruption does not come from any of the Blades. A communicator goes off.

Shiro opens his eyes, drawing back from Keith and glancing around the room.

It's coming from Matt, and he digs into his pocket in a hurry to answer the call.

Samuel Holt's voice comes in through the static, with a firm calm that barely conceals a frantic worry. "Matt? Katie?"

"Dad," Matt says, breathless.

Pidge is at Matt's side in an instant, tugging his arm down to speak into the communicator, echoing him. "Dad!"

"It's so good to hear your voices," Sam says. There's a weight in his voice, but he has no time to linger on the sentimental. "I don't know where you are or what you're doing, but the galra are coming. They're coming to Earth. We're building barriers, we've been working on ships, but they're not ready, it's not – I don't know how long we'll be able to hold out."

Pidge's eyebrows shoot up behind her bangs. She doesn't even have words when she turns to Allura, eyes wide.

"Yes," Allura answers, in an instant. "Yes, we're going. Of course we'll go, Pidge."

Across the room, quiet, Krolia murmurs, "Earth."

Shiro sees her shift her weight with an uncertainty, until Kolivan sets a hand on her shoulder. "Go," he tells her. Then looks to Keith and nods. "Just come back safe."

Keith's smile is soft, and he arches a brow. "Is that my mission?"

Kolivan looks away. "Yes." Shiro would almost think he was trying to be funny if his tone were not so flat. 

When Kuro steps forward, crossing from where the Blades are standing to be closer to the paladins, his intent obvious, Romelle follows after him. They step behind Keith at either side of him, soon joined by Krolia.

Shiro looks out over the paladins, and the new handful of Blades. "Alright. Romelle, you're with me. Kuro, Krolia, you ride with Keith."

They all nod, obedient.

The lines are blurred, Shiro realizes. One of the paladins of Voltron is with the Blades, and some of the Blades will stay with Voltron. The blur is pleasant. He has lived his life with too many sharp lines. At least now, let the danger come from outside his own body. Let it be something he can face with allies in every direction.

"Sam," Shiro says. "We'll see you soon."

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is the epitome of "You can't take that out! That's load-bearing smut!" There's too much smut for it to be a plot fic! There's too much plot for it to be a smut fic! It's all so self indulgent that it may as well be total PWP!!!
> 
> This also went through approximately… 7 different iterations that involved nearly complete re-writes, oops. A lot of timeline tweaking and butterfly effect… But also some stuff that I straight up just changed, and lots of things that are infinitely broken because of it. And now… It's just over? Just like that? You've messed up the timeline beyond repair! You've negated a time-skip, you've negated entire character arcs! Hey, did you forget? Did you fucking forget that even if they get to Earth 3 years earlier, now they don't have the power of the condensed castle?! Hey! Hey!!! How are they going to from Atlas? The pilots never switched up! Hey! What do you think you're doing?! 
> 
> And shouldn't you have figured out a way to divide this into chapters or something?! 
> 
> Um... Please forgive...


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